


My Heart Don't Wish To Roam

by BuckyWithTheGoodHair86



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Steve Rogers, Awesome Peggy Carter, Awesome Steve Rogers, BAMF Peggy Carter, Bodyguard Romance, Bucky Barnes & Peggy Carter Friendship, Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fairies, Falling In Love, Feel-good, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Hunters, Hurt Peggy Carter, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Idiots in Love, Kid Peggy Carter, Kid Steve Rogers, Love Confessions, Magic, Monsters, Peggy Carter Feels, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Romantic Fluff, Science Fiction, Soulmates, Spies & Secret Agents, Steve And Peggy Fighting The Bad Guys, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Steve and Peggy Falling in Love in Lots of Different Settings and Shows, Stubborn Peggy Carter, Stubborn Steve Rogers, True Love, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:08:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 184,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24494767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckyWithTheGoodHair86/pseuds/BuckyWithTheGoodHair86
Summary: Steve and Peggy were always meant to find each other. A series of one-shots of Steve and Peggy falling in love across a series of alternate universes, from the fantastical to the mundane and everything in between.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 123
Kudos: 157





	1. In The Automat

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this series from a Tumblr post by theminoracana that said "You wanna know why I like alternate universes so much? Because I like the idea that these two characters can/will love each other no matter what time period, where they are, or what the situation is. It's like, there is nothing that can stop them from loving each other, and I just really like that, okay, man?" And I saw that and thought, they are SO right. So, voila. Steve and Peggy falling in love in all kinds of stories. Because I love Steve and Peggy.
> 
> The title of the series is a line from "Love Don't Roam" by Neil Hannon, which is a Doctor Who song, but I wish someone would make a Steggy video of, because it's so perfect.
> 
> Many wonderful thanks to Ninjagidget and usa123, who cheered me on and helped make this story better. You rock!

* * *

_So, this chapter is just a light AU to start off with—we're still in the MCU in the 1940's. Project: Rebirth never worked, so Steve never got big and was never on the scene during the war, but Peggy was still in the S.S.R., and things continued for her as close to the original story as they could. Now it's 1946, in the middle of Season 1 of Agent Carter, and Peggy and Skinny Steve meet in the Automat._

_(Mostly rated K, but just a quick content warning for someone getting beat up pretty bad at one point in an interrogation. 'Cause, you know, Thompson.)_

* * *

"Aw, you really think so? Well, aren't you sweet," Angie said with a laugh.

"Angie, who are you talking to?" Peggy wondered as her friend drifted back along the diner counter to refill her coffee.

"Huh? Oh, I was talking to Steve."

"Who?" Peggy pressed. A glance down at the other end of the counter showed her no one was there.

"He's in the booth on the other end," Angie explained. Peggy craned her neck up and saw there was in fact someone sitting in the booth against the end of the counter, though the counter had blocked him from view. "He's a regular. I was tellin' him about that part I got in that little theater over by the station, and he came and saw me last night." She shot a significant look at Peggy. "Something which you still haven't managed to do, by the way."

Peggy sighed. "I did say sorry. I'm terribly busy at work. But I have every intention of coming this weekend."

"How busy can you be at the phone company?" she snorted, though she didn't seem too put out.

When Peggy finished her coffee and got up a little later, she had evidently gotten up just in time to catch Angie's friend coming out of his booth, because she turned around and collided with him.

"I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed, darting forward to snatch up her purse and the folder she'd dropped. He knelt down and scooped the papers back into the folder, then stood and handed it back to her. Even straightened up, he was still a couple of inches shorter than her. "Here you go," he said, brushing a lock of slightly over-long blond hair out of his face. "I'm so sorry," he said again.

"No harm done," she assured him. "I think this is yours?" While he'd been hurrying to pick up her things, she'd done the same to his, tucking papers back into the leather-bound notebook he'd been carrying.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks," he said.

"My name is Peggy, by the way," she said, extending a hand. "I understand you're a friend of Angie's?"

"Oh, yeah," he replied, shaking the offered hand. His hand was thin and rather bony, just like the rest of him. "I'm Steve."

"Nice to meet you, Steve," she said. "Angie was telling me how excited she was that you went to see her show."

"Oh, well," Steve replied, blushing a little and scuffing one foot against the floor. "I figured it was the sort of thing you do for a friend, you know? Everyone could use someone in their corner."

Peggy smiled. What a lovely sentiment. "Well, thank you for supporting her like that." Outside the window, she saw a familiar car pull up in front of the Automat. "I hate to crash into you and run, but that's my ride," she said.

Steve smiled and nodded. "Nice to meet you."

Peggy nodded back and headed to where Mr. Jarvis was waiting. As she was climbing into the passenger seat, the door of the Automat burst open, and Steve came rushing out. "Peggy!" he called.

"Yes?" she asked curiously.

"I think I picked up one of your papers by mistake," he said, holding out a folded piece of paper.

"Oh," she said, recognizing it. "Yes. Thank you."

She looked it over carefully as they drove away. The paper contained some very sensitive information regarding her search for Howard, but, thankfully, it was encoded and looked like nothing more than a letter from her mother. Nothing to worry about someone else seeing, then.

It wasn't until she returned to the Griffith later that night that Peggy realized Steve wasn't the only one who'd ended up with the wrong papers after their little collision. Tucked inside her folder was a lovely little drawing of a little girl and a dog. It must belong to Steve, so she would take it back to the Automat tomorrow, and if he wasn't there, ask Angie to give it to him.

As luck would have it, he was at the Automat when she arrived, in the same booth he'd been in the day before. "Hello, Steve," she said, walking over.

He looked up from his soup in surprise. "Oh! Hi, Peggy," he said.

"I believe I accidentally collected something of yours yesterday," she said, pulling out the drawing and handing it to him.

Relief washed over his face as she held it out. "Oh, you found it!" he said, looking up at her with rather a lovely smile. "Thank you!"

"Important, is it?" she asked with a smile.

He blushed a bit. "Yeah," he replied. "If I wanted to make rent next week." He smiled as she cocked a curious eyebrow. "I do some freelance illustrations for ads for the newspaper on top of my regular job," he explained. "This one was due tomorrow."

"Well, I'm glad I was able to get it back to you," she said.

"Would you like to sit down?" he asked, gesturing at the other side of the booth. "I could, um, I could get you a cup of coffee or something."

"Thank you, but I've got to dash. I just came in hoping I could return this to you."

"Oh, alright." He looked a touch crestfallen, but still smiled at her warmly. "Thanks again for bringing this back."

"Don't lose it before tomorrow, hey?" she teased. He chuckled and waved as she walked away.

She didn't see him for a few more days after that, but when their paths did cross in the diner again, she decided to take him up on his previous offer to sit with him, though she bought her own coffee. Angie was busy, and it was nice to have someone to talk to. And Steve, as it turned out, was an interesting conversationalist. He'd been a bit awkward at first, as though surprised at her continued desire for conversation, but he was well-read and funny and he didn't once try talking down to her or saying anything lewd. He also seemed more than willing to listen, and actually paid attention when she talked. It was rather refreshing.

Whenever their paths crossed in the diner from then on, they sat and shared a meal together. Steve was an artist, and he worked at the local community college, and while his work was mostly secretarial, he hoped to teach classes some day. He'd done some secretarial work during the war too, handling correspondence for a general, since he hadn't been approved to enlist. He greatly enjoyed hearing Peggy's stories of what she'd done during the War (the ones she was allowed to share, anyway), and he seemed very surprised when Peggy asked to see some of his artwork, but he obligingly brought some of it along the next time.

"Steve, you're very good," she said as he somewhat shyly showed her some projects he had finished. Those thin, bony hands of his she noticed were actually equipped with long, graceful fingers, perfect for controlling the delicate movements of a pencil or brush.

"I—really?" he stammered. "You think so?"

"I do," she replied. "These are lovely."

"Oh." He blushed, but smiled proudly. "Thank you."

It was such a natural part of her job that Peggy rarely gave a second thought to telling people she worked at the phone company, but the longer she knew him, the more she felt bad about lying to Steve. He seemed honestly interested in her, and she found herself longing to tell him the truth about what she did, feeling like he might truly understand the struggle she was facing to prove herself. He also had the terribly sweet, rather inconvenient habit of actually listening to her when she talked, which she hadn't expected because so few people did it, and she found herself having to keep track of what lies she told so she could answer properly when he asked about her day at work or her colleagues.

One thing that was safe enough to share—as long as she left out details of cases—was her frustration with being treated like a secretary. "Not that there's anything wrong with being a secretary," she hastened to add as she remembered that that was actually Steve's job. He smiled like he knew what she was thinking and didn't look offended. "It's just that it isn't my job. I've got clients of my own to look after, and I'm not being paid extra to do Thompson's bloody filing for him."

Steve chuckled. "It's amazing how those tough guys who think they're such hot stuff seem to have such trouble with the alphabet."

Peggy laughed. "Run into that as well, do you?"

"Well, yeah, but it's not too big of a deal, since filing _is_ actually part of my job," he allowed. "But it gets me when they make me go get their lunch. _That_ isn't my job, and it takes time away from actually doing what I'm supposed to be doing. And I think they think it's funny to watch the little guy try to carry everything." He said this last a touch ruefully, then smiled up at her. "There's this one guy over in the Math Department who's a real jerk about it, and it's not my proudest moment, but I have sneezed on his sandwich once or twice."

Peggy arched a surprised eyebrow.

"What?" he protested innocently. "I have asthma."

Peggy laughed. "I must admit, I'm rather impressed. I may just develop allergies myself next time I'm sent for lunch."

"It's too bad you can't just tell him where to shove it, you know?" Steve mused, and Peggy knew he wasn't so much offering advice as he was lamenting the similar situation he found himself in.

"I have often wished for the opportunity to punch him," Peggy admitted. "Him and some of the others."

"I suppose the gentlemanly thing for me to do would be to offer to do it for you," Steve said. "But you look like a lady who can take care of herself."

"Thank you," Peggy said, pleased with his assessment.

"Don't want to steal your thunder or anything. But if you want," he said, cracking his knuckles threateningly. "I could send him a strongly-worded letter."

Peggy laughed. "I might just have you do that, if only so I could see his face when he opens it."

When a message came through on their captured Leviathan communicator that necessitated a mission that included Peggy, she leapt at the opportunity. It was thrilling to get the chance to go back into the field and to show Thompson that she actually knew what she was doing, but Peggy did wonder about Steve when she returned from Lithuania—would he have wondered where she'd gotten to? As it turned out, she didn't get the chance to ask, as several days passed at the diner without any sight of him.

"Angie, is Steve alright?" she asked one day. "I haven't seen him about for a while."

"He's probably home sick," Angie replied. "His asthma acts up pretty bad this time of year, what with all the pollen in the air." She leaned forward across the counter with a knowing smirk. "Why?"

"Just curious," Peggy replied.

"Uh huh," Angie responded. She grinned. "I think you're sweet on him."

"Don't be ridiculous," Peggy replied. "He's simply a friend."

"Sure. A friend who you sit with every time you come in here. A friend who you miss when he's gone. A friend who makes you get that soft little smile when you think no one's lookin'."

"I don't do that," Peggy protested.

"You do too," Angie retorted.

"I don't!" she insisted. "Can I not simply enjoy the company of a man who is neither a pig nor a lech and reads something other than the sports page?"

"Sure," Angie said with a shrug. "If that's what I thought you were doing."

"Angie," Peggy warned.

Angie held up her hands. "Fine. Maybe you ain't sweet on him. Sure looks like it to me, though. But maybe you should think about it. He may not be so much to look at, but he's got a good heart." She picked up her coffee pot and shrugged again. "You could do a lot worse."

Peggy found herself bristling at Angie's comment on Steve's appearance. Yes, he was small and thin, but there was a delicate sort of beauty in the shape of the bones of his face and the structure of his hands. She'd often wondered what it would be like to slide her fingers into those graceful artist's hands, to brush back the soft blond hair that was always falling into his face so she could stare more deeply into those intensely blue eyes. She straightened up with a start. That _was_ the sort of thing she might be inclined to think if she was sweet on Steve. Perhaps Angie was closer to the mark than she'd thought. Peggy bit her lip thoughtfully. She was going to have to be careful. Her line of work didn't exactly allow the time for that sort of relationship. Steve had made no romantic overtures towards her, so maybe he didn't harbor the same feelings she appeared to be developing, but she had still best be cautious. People around her did have a tendency to get hurt. She didn't want that to happen to Steve.

Steve returned to his usual routine at the diner, seemingly in restored health, though he did wheeze from time to time. Once she was assured he was alright, Peggy began slowly pulling away. She couldn't bring herself to ignore him completely, but she started staying in the Automat for shorter amounts of time, taking her food to go and keeping their conversations brief. This had the added bonus of creating more of a professional distance around Angie as well, hopefully giving any outsiders the idea that their relationship went no farther than friendly waitress and regular customer. Friendships and romances could easily be used against her if anyone in Leviathan found out about them, and the distance would keep them safer.

Angie remained professional at work as Peggy pulled away, though she was not above a short temper when they crossed paths in the hallway of the Griffith. Steve, on the other hand, simply looked a bit perplexed at her change in attitude, but would always just nod and leave her alone. After it had happened a few times, he would smile and wave when he saw her, but he stopped trying to engage in anything other than small talk. He probably didn't think she saw the hurt in his eyes when he looked back down at his lunch, but she did. She'd seen it in Colleen's face and in Angie's often enough to recognize it, though it stung more now, for some reason. But then she would see Colleen's face, frozen in death as blood trickled from the bullet hole in her forehead—the memory cut deep, and it was far too easy to imagine Steve in her place. Peggy would force the image away and her resolve would strengthen once more. And she wouldn't ignore him forever. She didn't want to lose his friendship, but as Leviathan loomed ever larger and seemed to be taking more of an interest in her life lately, she just needed to build up enough distance to keep him from getting hurt. She could repair the damage once they were taken care of.

One day, she met up with Mr. Jarvis at the Automat, and as they were getting dessert to hide their discussion on the progress they'd made tracking Howard's mystery woman and plan their next move, something uneasy prickled up the back of Peggy's neck. She turned around slowly. The diner was far more empty than it had been when she came in. Only a few patrons remained, all men trying a little too hard to act casual, and all men she recognized. Oh, this wasn't good.

"Mr. Jarvis, I believe we're about to be in danger," she said quietly. "No, don't turn around!" she hissed. She moved farther down the line, nodding discreetly over her shoulder. "The diner has emptied rather quickly, don't you think?"

"A bit unusual for the lunch hour," he admitted. "What makes you think we're in danger?"

"Because everyone left in here is an S.S.R. agent," she replied. "They've emptied the diner to avoid civilian casualties; there are more of them waiting on the sidewalk outside; and as there's no one else here, either you or I would seem to be their target. Most likely me," she added. "I doubt they would send seven men after you."

"I would be offended had I not seen you in action," he replied. "What do you suggest we do?"

"I will engage the three in here. You find a way to block the door to keep the rest of them out," she instructed. If they moved quickly enough, surprise would give her an edge over the three she was going up against. "After the door is blocked, assist me in taking down whoever may still be standing, and then we'll head out the back."

"Very good," he said.

Peggy gave him a soft count to the three, then hurled herself over the edge of the nearest booth, feet first. Her feet drove into the chest of Agent Kimball, sending him to the floor, and the plate of pie in her hand went flying through the air and directly into Agent Flannigan's face. A foot into the side of Kimball's head made sure he stayed on the ground, leaving her free to deal with Flannigan and Chang.

They were both large men, but both were clearly surprised to see a woman putting up this much of a fight, and she used that to her advantage. She kicked and punched and rolled and dove, and she was distantly aware of Mr. Jarvis shouting that there were too many for him to hold at the door, but she was a bit preoccupied at the moment. There was a harsh scraping sound across the diner floor, and she punched Chang hard enough in the gut to double him over just in time for her to look over his head and see a chair sliding across the tile in Mr. Jarvis's direction. He shoved it quickly into the revolving door, jamming it tightly, then snatched up a napkin dispenser off a table and crashed it into the back of Flannigan's head, sending him to the ground as Peggy finished with Chang. In the momentary stillness, they looked over in the direction the chair had come from.

"Steve?!" Peggy gaped. "What in the hell are you doing here?"

"I was sitting over there," Steve said, hooking a thumb back to indicate his usual booth and looking like he was still trying to figure out what had just happened.

Peggy supposed he was short enough that the agents clearing the diner might have missed seeing him tucked away in the corner.

"I suggest we make our exit," Mr. Jarvis said, nodding at the back door. The men at the front were pounding on the door, and it looked like it had occurred to one of them to find something to break the glass with.

"Yes, I think we'd best," Peggy agreed. "Come on, Steve."

He hurried along behind them, and Peggy burst out the door into the back alley and right into the barrel of Jack Thompson's gun. "I told 'em it would take more than that to bring you down," he said. "Oh, and look," he added as Mr. Jarvis burst out the door behind her. "Stark's butler. Why am I not surprised?"

"I can explain, Jack," she said carefully, raising her hands.

"Oh, I'm sure you can," he replied. "And you will. Back at the office."

"I can't do that now," she insisted. "You've got to believe me. We've tracked the woman responsible for this, and she—"

"Shut up!" Jack warned. "You are in a deep hole here, Marge, and I—"

Whatever he'd been about to say was cut short as something white hurled through the air and collided with the side of his head. The shattering of ceramic accompanied his surprised fall to the ground, and Peggy stepped forward quickly, kicked his gun away, and punched him hard to make sure he stayed there. She turned around to see Steve stepping out from behind Mr. Jarvis.

"Steve, what did you just do?" she asked.

"I'm pretty sure I just attacked a cop with a serving platter," he said.

"Federal agent, actually," she corrected.

"Oh." He looked down at Jack and nodded. "Okay. That's worse, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is." She looked at him curiously. "Why would you do that? Not just here, but back in the diner?"

Steve shrugged. "You looked like you needed help."

Peggy smiled, touched, but shook her head. "And how do you know I'm not some sort of wanted criminal?"

"Well, apparently, you are," he said with a small smile. "But I trust you."

"You…"

"I'm terribly sorry, but I really don't think this is the place," Mr. Jarvis interrupted apologetically.

"Yes, yes, you're right," Peggy agreed. "Let's stick to our plan to meet at the Dublin. Steve, do you know where that is?" Whether or not he had the full picture, Steve was in this now.

"Yeah, but I can—"

"No, we need to split up so we'll be harder to catch. Meet us there." She turned to Mr. Jarvis. "I need to go back and fetch something from the Griffith."

"What, now?" Mr. Jarvis asked incredulously.

"Yes," she insisted. Hidden in her wall was the last remaining sample of Dr. Erskine's formula. She'd taken it from Howard when she'd learned the genius planned on messing about with the nearly-perfected formula and monetizing the results. She'd punched him then too—she hadn't been able to bear the thought of the work a dear friend had died for being reduced to lining Howard's pockets. She had to fetch the sample now because she couldn't risk the S.S.R. tearing her room apart in their search for her and finding it and doing something worse with it. "Go. Be at the Dublin by tonight and we'll work out our next move."

They split off and ran, Peggy running briefly into Agent Sousa, who begged her to stop, but didn't run after her. Things got rather blurry after that—she managed to make it back and retrieve the formula, thanks to Angie, but then she ran into the very woman she'd been trying to catch who used her own knockout lipstick against her, and she woke up handcuffed in the back of Jack's car. Bloody hell.

It was a very long afternoon—Jack, Daniel, and the Chief took it in turns grilling her, Jack with his threats, Daniel with those big disappointed eyes, and the Chief with his blustering anger. She told them the truth over and over, but they all refused to believe her.

"Fine," the Chief finally growled. He gestured to the mirrored window, and a moment later, Thompson came back in. "I didn't want it to come to this, Carter," he sighed. "But you're not leaving us a lot of options here." He nodded at Jack. "Don't go easy on her just because she's a girl," he said, then left the room.

For the first time, Jack seemed unsure of himself. "You really going to make me do this, Marge?"

Peggy cocked an eyebrow. "I'm not making you do anything, _Agent_. And I hate it when you call me Marge."

"Really?" he asked. "That's what you're going to focus on now?"

"What else should I focus on?" she asked. "I've been telling you the truth for hours now, and it hasn't made the slightest dent in that thick skull of yours. May as well change the subject."

Thompson sighed. "Look, I don't want to do this, alright? I don't. But Chief's right—we're running out of time here, and you've landed yourself in a hell of a suspicious spot for someone who's innocent."

"I'll give you that," Peggy agreed. "But you really think you can beat the truth out of me?"

Thompson sighed again. "Maybe not. Didn't work on your friend—which kind of surprised me, I gotta say—but talking sure isn't doing it, so what else am I supposed to do?"

"My friend?" Peggy asked.

"Little guy, smart mouth," Thompson replied. "Hell of a throwing arm," he added, rubbing at the side of his head.

Peggy sat up straighter. They had Steve? "He's got nothing to do with this," she said.

"Really?" Thompson asked. "The plate he threw at my head would beg to differ."

"He's just a misguided Samaritan," she insisted. "He saw a lady being attacked and took it upon himself to intervene."

"Sure." Thompson sighed again and rolled up his sleeves. "Seems like he knows you better than that. Though he sure can keep his mouth shut under pressure," he admitted. "Hasn't spilled a thing. We could stand for some of our guys to be that tough."

It was certainly easy not to spill any secrets you didn't know. Peggy swallowed uneasily. Just how hard had they tried to extract her secrets from Steve? "What did you do to him?" she asked.

"Same thing I always do in these interrogation rooms," Thompson sighed. "Same thing I'm about to have to do to you."

Peggy winced, thinking of the beatings she'd seen Thompson inflict on uncooperative suspects, and imagining those fists hammering into those fragile-looking bones of Steve's.

"Jack, please listen to me," she begged. "I'm telling you the truth. You trusted me in Lithuania," she reminded him, and his expression softened. "Trust me again, please." She sighed. "I've told you the truth but…There's one more thing." She nodded at the vial containing what was left of the formula, swallowing hard. She hated to give it up, to think what they might do with it, but Steve had sacrificed a lot for her just now. She could do the same for him.

By the time she finished explaining, Daniel and the Chief had come back in. "That's really what this is?" Daniel asked, eyeing the bright blue liquid curiously. He turned back to Peggy. "Why were you so keen to keep it from us?"

"Because it's the last of what Dr. Erskine made and died for, and I didn't trust you not to abuse it," Peggy replied.

"So why give it up now?" the Chief asked.

Peggy sighed. "So you would know I was telling the truth," she said. Something had to give if they were going to get anywhere with this case, and if they believed her, they could go after Dottie before she got too far. And if they believed her, they would stop hurting Steve.

"So, your little friend," Jack began.

"His name is Steve," Peggy snapped.

"Steve, then," Jack corrected. "He really doesn't know about any of this?"

"He really doesn't," Peggy insisted. A guilty look flashed across Jack's face, and Peggy wondered how badly he'd hurt him. "Can I see him?"

"Um," Jack began, and the nervous knot in Peggy's stomach twisted tighter.

"Take her in there," the Chief said, waving at the door. "And let the little guy go."

"Thank you," Peggy said, getting to her feet. She nodded at the box of evidence they had laid out in front of her. "Everything is there. You should familiarize yourselves with it, and then after I make sure Steve is alright, we can get to work on finishing this case properly." She marched out of the room after Jack, head held high. She wasn't sure what making sure Steve was alright was going to look like, but she wasn't going to let them see her sweat.

Jack walked with her to one of the other interrogation rooms and unlocked the door. The figure sitting in the chair inside straightened up as the door opened, and Peggy's eyes went wide at the sight that greeted her. Steve's face was a bloody mess, swollen almost beyond recognition with welts and bruises. Blood was matted in his hair, he appeared to be having difficulty opening his eyes beyond a squint, and his nose was sitting at the wrong angle. He was doing his best to sit up straight, but he was hunched over awkwardly to one side, one arm curled protectively over his midsection. "Bloody hell, Jack!" she snapped.

Thompson, to his credit, had the sense to look ashamed.

"Steve?" Peggy asked. She stepped forward gingerly, as if even getting close to him would cause him further pain.

He had rolled his head stiffly to glare in the direction of the door, but his eyes widened as much as they could when they landed on her. "Peggy?" he rasped. "Y'alright?"

"Am _I_ alright?" she repeated incredulously. "You're the one who looks like he just went seven rounds with a brick wall!"

Steve blew out a huff of unconcerned air, then winced as though he regretted the gesture. "'ve had worse," he said. "But y're okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, fond exasperation swelling up in her chest. She turned around to glare at Thompson. "Are you going to uncuff him, or are you going to stand there being useless? What were you thinking leaving him here like this? He needs a hospital!"

"No, 'm fine," Steve insisted, and if she hadn't been worried about splitting his head open, she would have smacked him across the back of it.

"No, you're not," she said, moving to the side so Jack could unlock the cuffs.

"Jus' get me home," he said. "I c'n clean up 'n sleep this off."

"Steve," she said, lowering her voice as Jack stepped away again. Steve lowered his hands gingerly into his lap. She leaned down so she could look him in the eye. "Barring the staggering amount of blood you're covered in, you've got a concussion, and I'm not sending you home with that." Even if she didn't know how hard Thompson hit, what she could see of Steve's eyes were unevenly dilated. "You're hurt, and you need help."

"I…" Steve began. Peggy knew that because of his size and his illnesses, he often had to struggle to prove himself, but there was a difference between making other people see your value, which she understood completely, and being idiotically macho, which she hadn't seen in him before and couldn't say she cared for.

"Not going to the hospital doesn't help anything. You don't have to prove to me or to anyone how tough you are," she told him.

"S'not that," he mumbled, looking down, and it was hard to tell under all the bruises, but she thought she could see color rising in his cheeks. He swallowed hard. "Can't afford it," he whispered.

"Oh," she breathed, something tightening painfully in her chest. Very carefully, she placed two fingers under his chin and tilted his face up to look at her. She smiled warmly. "The S.S.R. will take care of that," she said gently, reaching up a hand to brush aside a lock of hair that had fallen into his face. "All things considered, it's the least they can do."

"S'fair enough," he said, giving her a small smile in return.

"Thompson will pay for it personally, if I have my way," she added.

He huffed a laugh at that, then winced. "Don't," he breathed, his arm curling a little tighter around his midsection. "Hurts to laugh."

"Sorry," she said, feeling guilty for not catching that quicker. "Do you need help getting up?"

"Yeah," he whispered.

Peggy started to get him to his feet, then decided it was best she phone Mr. Jarvis for a ride first—he could probably get here in the time it would take her to get Steve to the front door. She hurried into the next room and telephoned, though it took a good deal of explaining to assure him that he could come to the S.S.R. without being arrested; she would be free to leave with him; and all misunderstandings regarding the pair of them and Howard had been cleared away now.

Hurrying back to Steve, she got him carefully to his feet, and had the fleeting thought that this was _not_ what she'd had in mind when she'd thought about putting her arms around him before chastising herself—that was hardly important right now. "Is this alright?" she asked once they were upright, not sure if she was taking enough weight so that he could move.

He nodded carefully. "My feet work alright," he said. "S'long as you c'n keep me from falling over." She nodded. "Sorry I'm bleeding all over you," he added, casting an embarrassed look at her clothes. "Think 'm ruining your dress."

"Don't worry about it," she assured him.

"'s a nice dress," he mumbled.

She wasn't sure what to say to that, so she just started them walking. Mr. Jarvis had indeed arrived by the time they made it outside. "Good Lord," he exclaimed, jumping out of the car and hurrying out to help her move Steve into the back seat.

"Nearest hospital please, Mr. Jarvis," Peggy said, climbing into the back to help Steve stay upright.

"Right away." He hurried back to the front and took off quickly.

"Thanks," Steve whispered. He slumped over sideways, and Peggy stretched out an arm to pull him back up. "Think you're gonna hafta carry me the rest 'f th' way," he mumbled.

"What?" she asked.

"Sorry," he apologized, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

"Faster, Mr. Jarvis," she said tightly.

Once Steve was settled in the hospital—they told the doctors he'd been mugged—she sank down into a chair in the waiting room to catch her breath. A cup of hot tea appeared in front of her, and she cast a quick smile up at Mr. Jarvis. "An ideal butler provides service without being asked," she said fondly. "Isn't that what you said?"

"Indeed," Mr. Jarvis said, smiling warmly. "A cup of tea seemed just the thing at the moment."

"Oh, very much so," she agreed, taking a long, fortifying sip.

"Now that we're not in danger for our lives," Mr. Jarvis began after a moment. "Who is our injured friend?"

Peggy sighed. "His name is Steve Rogers."

"A colleague of yours?"

"No." She sighed. "He wasn't supposed to be involved in this at all. He's just a friend who frequents the diner." She smiled ruefully. "He thinks I work at the telephone company."

Mr. Jarvis nodded. "Quite a gallant young man," he said.

Peggy swallowed guiltily. "I feel just awful about this."

"It is unfortunate that he should have been injured in assisting us, but the actions of your fellow agents are hardly your fault, Agent Carter," he said.

Peggy shook her head. "It isn't that. I mean," she sighed. "It _is_ —he never would have gotten hurt if he hadn't been trying to help me." She sighed again. "What I meant was, I…I don't know why he was trying to help me at all."

"You did say he was your friend."

"Yes, but…" Peggy sighed. She'd been playing everything so close to the chest for so long, and Steve had been the one person she'd been able to be more free with. Now he was laid up unconscious in the hospital because of her, and… "I've treated him rather badly of late, I'm afraid," she admitted.

Mr. Jarvis nodded encouragingly for her to go on, so she did.

"I've known Steve for some time now, and I've…Well, I've grown rather fond of him," she said. "Perhaps too fond. It frightened me when I realized that; I…People around me do tend to get hurt," she said. "People like Colleen, and friends during the War…I didn't want that to happen to him, and I…" She played her thumb nervously along the edge of her teacup. "I've been giving him the cold shoulder lately," she said sadly. "I thought it would keep him safer."

Mr. Jarvis didn't say anything for a long moment, and when he did, Peggy was surprised at the gentleness in his voice. "Miss Carter," he began. "As someone who lies to his wife about his whereabouts on a terribly frequent basis, I completely understand the desire to keep those you care about safe. You _do_ care about him," he said, cutting off the automatic protest he saw forming on her lips. He smiled warmly. "And that is no bad thing. Just because we must sometimes fight alone, it doesn't mean we must always walk alone. You do walk a difficult path—one that few men would be able to keep pace with." His smile widened. "But that this young man was willing to fight and put himself in danger based only on what he knows of your character…He might well be worthy of a chance at walking with you."

Peggy nodded. "Perhaps." It did sound rather inviting, though there was air to clear between them first. She sighed. But unfortunately, there were more pressing things at hand. "But Dottie Underwood is still out there," she said. "And there's something rotten about Ivchenko. I feel we're running out of time."

"Duty calls," Mr. Jarvis agreed. "Return to your post, Agent Carter. I shall stay here and keep watch over our friend. Ring the front desk if you need me."

"Thank you, Mr. Jarvis."

For what it was worth, Jack did apologize for his behaviour when she returned to the office, though Peggy told him she wasn't the one he should be apologizing to. Now that she'd been proven right, he was willing to listen to her and follow her lead, and the next twenty four hours were a whirlwind as Howard returned from hiding, Ivchenko made his move and they lost the Chief, followed shortly by the massacre at the theatre, then a rush against time to stop Ivchenko and Dottie and their plan to murder everyone in New York and place the blame on Howard.

In the end, it all came out right, though Dottie escaped to fight another day. Howard offered Peggy and Angie a place to stay at one of his properties, and Peggy took the evening to have a nice hot bath and collapse into bed. She was woken in the middle of the night by what she eventually recognized as a ringing telephone, and decided there were definite downsides to having a phone in every room.

"Yes?" she croaked, having stumbled her way to the phone in the far corner of her room.

"Miss Carter," Mr. Jarvis greeted, sounding awfully chipper for such an ungodly hour. "I would have waited until morning to call and offer my congratulations on your victory, but the doctors have informed me that Master Rogers will be waking up soon. I thought you might like to be present."

"Yes," Peggy said, feeling suddenly more awake. "Yes, I'll be right there."

She phoned a taxi, dressed quickly, and hurried out the door. Mr. Jarvis was waiting for her at the hospital. "His condition has improved greatly since you last saw him. The doctors assure me of a full recovery."

"Thank you, Mr. Jarvis," Peggy said with a relieved smile. "And thank you for watching over him." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "You should go home and get some rest," she told him. "I'll stay with him now."

He nodded, smiled, and left.

Carefully, Peggy opened the door to the room Steve was in. He _did_ look much better—bruises still covered his skin, but the swelling had gone down enough to return his face to its proper shape, and his nose was back where it should have been. His left arm was in a cast to the elbow, and Peggy took a moment to be grateful it was his left and not his right—he would still be able to do the drawing and painting that he loved so much.

She sat down in the chair beside his bed, and after a moment's hesitation, she picked up his good hand and held it in both of hers, mindful of the IV needle in the back. "I'm sorry," she said, squeezing his fingers gently.

She sat there a little while longer, then sat up straighter and pulled her hands back when he sniffed and turned his head, shifting on the mattress as he began to come awake. "Steve?" she said.

He blinked rapidly, once, twice, and then again, clearing the sleep from his eyes. They were still ringed with bruised circles, but he could open them all the way now, and there was clarity in the blue staring back at her. "Peggy?" he yawned.

"Hello," she said, unable to stop herself smiling. "You're in the hospital," she added as his eyes darted around the room questioningly.

"Yeah, I can tell," he replied, giving her a little smile. "Not my first rodeo." He moved to sit up and Peggy leaned forward to help him, helping him upright and adjusting the pillows behind him.

"How do you feel?"

He considered. "Kind of like I got hit by a truck," he said at last.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"Yeah. You took out a diner full of federal agents, I brained one of 'em with a serving platter, then we split up and they caught up with me. Then Thompson beat the snot out of me." He sniffed thoughtfully. "I can see why you don't like him."

That surprised a laugh out of Peggy.

"How long was I out?" he asked. "I'm guessing since I'm not handcuffed to the bed or anything, I'm not getting arrested for helping you attack a federal agent."

"No, you're not," she agreed. "The diner was almost two days ago. A lot has happened since then."

Steve huffed a laugh at that, and it didn't look like it hurt as much as it did last time. "Yeah, I'll buy that. Am I allowed to ask what the hell happened, or would you have to kill me?"

She knew he was making a joke, but a guilty knot twisted back into place in her stomach all the same. "No, I do owe you an explanation," she said. "And an apology."

"What for?"

"Lots of things. Lying to you for starters. I'm an S.S.R. agent as well."

To her surprise, he smiled even wider. "I kind of figured. I knew you didn't work at the phone company."

Peggy felt her eyebrows shoot up into her hair. "You did?"

He chuckled. "Remember the day we met? How I ended up with some of your paperwork in my folder?"

She nodded.

"And remember how I told you I worked as a secretary to a general during the War? I handled his correspondence. I know what a Bacon cipher looks like."

Peggy gaped at him. "You've known this whole time that I was a secret agent?"

"Yeah," he said, still smiling and looking quite pleased with himself. "I mean, I didn't know for what agency or anything, but…yeah."

"And you let me blather on about working for the phone company?"

He chuckled. "It was obviously your cover. I wasn't gonna blow it. I wasn't ever upset that you were lying about it. And I could tell which parts of what you told me were real—you get this spark in your eye when you're talking about things you really care about."

Peggy felt embarrassed and touched and wrong-footed all at once. "Well," she said at last. "Thank you for keeping my cover. And I'm still sorry. About the lying, and about you getting dragged into the rest of this." She sighed deeply. "That was…I've seen Thompson in action in those interrogation rooms," she said. She looked at Steve, shaking her head in wonder. "That was incredibly brave of you, standing up to him like that. You know you actually impressed him with the way you kept quiet?" She shook her head again, proud of him and hurt for him. "Why didn't you tell him the truth?"

"Well, beyond some guesses I had, I wasn't too sure what the truth was," Steve admitted. "I told him I didn't have anything to do with what was going on, but he didn't believe me, so I figured I'd zip it and at least annoy him if I couldn't fight back. But mostly…" He shrugged. "I didn't want to get you in trouble."

"You didn't even know what I was doing," she protested.

"I know. But I trusted you." He smiled warmly. "It's the kind of thing you do for a friend."

Peggy felt tears springing to her eyes. It was ridiculous, what he was saying, but he was so genuine. She huffed a watery laugh. "This was a hell of a lot more than going to see Angie in a bad play."

Steve chuckled. "Alright. It's the kind of thing you do for a really good friend."

The words warmed her and twisted the guilty knife in her gut deeper all at once. "Steve, I…That's the other thing I need to apologize for. For the last several weeks, I…I've treated you dreadfully."

Steve's smile fell at that, and his lack of a rebuttal told her how deep her actions had cut him.

"It was nothing you did," she assured him. "I just…People around me tend to get hurt, and I thought if I could push you away, you'd be safer."

Steve huffed a half-hearted laugh. "Didn't really work."

That stung, but she deserved that. "No," she agreed. "And I'm so sorry."

"You know, I, I spent all those days trying to figure out what I'd done to run you off," he said. She swallowed down a painful knot in her throat. "Knowing now why you did it…I get it. But I would have liked to make that choice for myself."

Peggy nodded, looking down at her feet.

"But I would have chosen to stay," he said softly, and she looked back up at him. His blue eyes were blazing with sincerity. "Even if I knew this was coming. I would've stayed." He smiled at her in a way that loosened that guilty knot in her throat and made it easier to breathe. "You're important to me, Peggy. I would have chosen to stick with you."

She looked into his eyes for a long moment, feeling she was right on the edge of something. She'd been pushing people away for so long, to protect them, she'd thought, but it was to protect herself too. She was tired of losing people she cared about. But this time, she hadn't. He was still here.

"You're important to me too, Steve," she said. Somewhat of its own accord, her hand drifted back down to the mattress, picking up his good one and threading her fingers through his. It fit remarkably well. He stared down at their intertwined hands in surprise, blinking dumbly up at her when she continued speaking.

"If I wasn't so used to lying all the time, I would have realized sooner just _how_ important you are to me," she went on. She smiled at him sadly. "You're the first person I've ever felt guilty lying to. I've never felt more respected, or cared about, or, or…comfortable than I have when I'm with you. I…" She couldn't think of how she wanted to say what she needed to, so, before she lost her nerve, she leaned forward, closed her eyes, and kissed him gently.

When she pulled away, he was staring at her with eyes wider than she'd ever seen them. She wasn't entirely sure he was breathing.

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling suddenly embarrassed and letting go of his hand. "If I've over-stepped…"

"No, no!" he said quickly, finally regaining the ability to speak. "No, it wasn't, I mean I…" He stopped, taking a couple of breaths to collect himself. The way he smiled back at her when he looked up again made something flutter inside her chest.

"That was very, _very_ okay that you did that," he said. "It just…" He shook his head in awe. "It really surprised me."

"It did?" she asked. "After everything I just said?"

He lifted one shoulder in an embarrassed shrug. "That kind of thing doesn't happen to me a lot. Well, ever," he corrected. "And just…You're amazing, Peggy. The fight you fight and the fire in your soul and the good heart you have…The longer I knew you, the harder I fell, and I don't know if I've ever seen anything as beautiful as the way you decked that guy in the diner."

Peggy felt herself blushing at that, even as a smile crept up her cheeks.

"I just never wanted to kid myself that a girl like you would go for a guy like me," he finished. "I was more than happy to think we could just be friends. So, yeah, it surprised me." A mischievous quirk tugged his smile up even higher. "I'm ready for it now, though," he added. "If you, you know, if you wanted to do it again."

Peggy grinned and leaned forward again, taking his face carefully in her hands and planting her lips on his. She kissed him with more purpose this time, and this time, he kissed her back.

"Ow," he winced, as one of her hands shifted around to the back of his head, gripping his hair. "I think I've got stitches back there."

"Sorry!" Peggy replied, letting go and sitting back up.

"No, it's okay," he said, leaning after her as his lips chased hers, like he was afraid to let her get too far away. He kissed her again and she leaned back towards him. "Maybe just hold on to a different part of my head."

Peggy laughed and carried on kissing him, a bit more gently this time. She sighed happily when they stopped to breathe, resting her forehead against his. He really did have the most beautiful eyes. She couldn't believe she'd worried so much about this—she didn't know that she'd ever felt anything so right before. She smiled at him. "It's entirely possible that I'm falling in love with you, Steve."

If she'd thought his smile was beautiful before, it was positively radiant now. "I think I'm falling in love with you too, Peggy."

* * *

_I am a firm believer in the fact that Steve and Peggy would have gotten together even if the serum had never worked. Peggy was totally into Skinny Steve._

_So, that's it for the Agent Carter AU. Next up, we'll hop over and drop our heroes off in one of my other favorite shows and they'll fight some monsters._


	2. The Hunter And The Man Of Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this one, we're in the modern day and it's a Supernatural AU. Peggy is the hunter and Steve is the Man of Letters. (For those unfamiliar with Supernatural, fear not! This has very little to do with the show, and very much to do with Steve and Peggy. You don't need to know anything about the show except that hunters take out monsters and ghosts and things that the general public are unaware of, and the Men of Letters operate out of secret underground bunkers to tell them where to go.) Steve uses a lot of aliases in this one as part of his job—if you can place them all, you win a cookie!
> 
> Slight content warning for the level of violence and monster guts one would expect from an average SPN episode.

* * *

The little bell over the door chimed to indicate that someone had just opened the main door with an approved key, and a minute later Steve heard boots on the stairs. He swiveled his chair around to see who it was and found himself face to face with a dirt-encrusted, blood-spattered, very irritated woman.

"Who the hell are you?" she snapped.

"Steve Rogers," he said, standing up from his chair. He straightened his glasses, trying to see the face under all the dirt. "It's Peggy Carter, right?"

The disapproving glare she'd been giving him morphed into one of hard suspicion, and the way her hand moved to rest on the knife on her belt told him the only thing keeping that knife from being pressed against his throat was the fact that they were in a secure Men of Letters bunker so he _probably_ belonged here. "How do you know who I am?" she demanded.

Steve sighed, refraining from rolling his eyes. Hunters were always so paranoid. "Because it's my job to keep track of all the hunters running cases out of here. There are only two hunters in the area I haven't met yet, so unless you're Oscar Velasquez, Peggy Carter seemed like the safer bet."

"So you work here?"

Steve did roll his eyes this time. "No, I work at Wal-Mart, and I'm hanging out in the super-secret bunker on my coffee break," he sighed. "Obviously, I work here."

She arched an unimpressed eyebrow. "Where's Jackson?"

"Recalled to the California base." She still looked skeptical, and Steve sighed. "Like three months ago. The last seven times you've texted in looking for a new case, that was me."

"Mm." She looked him up and down, and Steve drew himself up to his full five-foot-four. "Fine," she sighed. She hitched up the strap of the bag on her shoulder and moved for the hallway. "I assume you haven't renovated in your three months?"

"Showers are right where they were last time," he said. "And if you're bunking in, stay out of Room Eleven—last guy who stayed in there had a faulty curse box, and the purification spells are still cleaning the place out. Fourteen has a new mattress, though."

She made a grunting noise that Steve decided to take as a 'thank you' and disappeared. He dropped back down into his chair with a sigh. Was it in the handbook or something that hunters were supposed to be rude?

A little while later, he pulled his glasses down and rubbed at his eyes. He'd been staring at the laptop too long, and he was getting hungry. He was nearly done making dinner when he heard feet in the library. Peggy was back, in a pair of leggings, an over-sized t-shirt, and wet hair, suggesting she wasn't heading out for a motel. "You want dinner?" Steve asked.

She turned around from the shelf of books she'd been looking at, a book in her hand. "What?"

"I made dinner," he said. "Would you like some?" She did that unimpressed eyebrow thing again, and Steve rolled his eyes. "No, I'm not…" He sighed again. "I'm not trying to make a move or anything. I'm hungry; I made myself dinner; it seemed polite to offer you some. Go out and get a burger for all I care and I'll just eat the rest tomorrow."

"Oh," she said. "No, actually, dinner sounds nice. I was just surprised by the offer—Jackson usually ordered take-away."

Steve snorted. Jackson hadn't been a hunter, but he'd certainly eaten like one. The only food that had been in the entire bunker when Steve had arrived had been a potato in the fridge that was starting to grow new potatoes. "Yeah, well, Jackson was, like, two plates of ribs away from a coronary."

Peggy smiled at that, and Steve smiled back.

"You allergic to mushrooms?" he asked.

"No."

"Good." He nodded at the table. "Have a seat if you want. It's almost done." He went back into the kitchen and finished up, then brought everything out to the table in the library.

"Wow," Peggy said. "You made a salad?" Steve drew in a breath, ready to defend his culinary choices once again from a hunter complaining about 'rabbit food', but she continued. "Do you know how hard it is to find a decent salad on the road?"

Steve smiled. "Judging by the way most hunters act like I'm serving them a bowl of revenant guts when I put it on the table, I'm guessing very. There was a guy in here a couple weeks back who I don't think had ever seen a carrot in his life."

Peggy laughed at that. "Speaking of revenant guts," she said, faint color rising in her cheeks. "I feel I should probably apologize. When I came in, I was covered in, well, not revenant guts, but various pieces of ghoul and the accompanying internal fluids, and after a hot, very smelly car ride, that put me in a very bad mood. I was rather rude to you, and I'm sorry."

Steve blinked, surprised. Hunters were usually rude, but this might be the first time one apologized for it. "Oh. Um, well, thanks," he said, not really sure what else to say. "No harm done," he added, feeling the need to say something else.

"So, how did you come to join the Men of Letters, then?" Peggy asked after several quiet minutes of chicken, rice and salad passed.

Steve shrugged. "Same way most people do—family business."

"You're a legacy, then?"

"Eighth generation," Steve replied. "Didn't really have many other career options."

"Did you want to do something else?" Peggy asked around a mouthful of lettuce.

Steve considered. No one had ever really asked him that. "I don't think so," he said at last. "I've always loved reading and research and stuff, and there's certainly enough of that around to keep a guy interested." He looked across the table at her curiously. "What brought you to America? I've met a few British hunters before, but they're usually just out on a quick tracking trip. I've seen your name around here for a while."

A phone rang as she was starting to answer, and Steve winced apologetically. "Sorry. I know it's usually bad manners to answer the phone during dinner, but…"

"Given the nature of your job, I can forgive the lapse in etiquette," she said with a small smile.

Steve got up and picked up the FBI phone. "Agent Evans," he answered. "Yes. Yes, that's right," he told the sheriff on the other end. "It really is federal jurisdiction on this one, Sheriff; he's wanted in seventeen states." He listened a moment longer. "Your cooperation with my team is very much appreciated, of course, and it will be duly noted in the report, I assure you." That seemed to do the trick, and he was able to return to dinner.

"To answer your question," Peggy said when he sat back down. "Let's just say I was looking to get away from micromanaging. The British Men of Letters don't give their hunters the freedom you get over here. I was only allowed to take the cases they gave me, nothing more, nothing less, and on their timetable, not mine."

"Wow," Steve said. "That kind of sucks." He considered. "Seems like a lot of extra work for them too. I wouldn't want to do that."

"Well, the men I knew seemed to enjoy the power it gave them," she said. "They also really enjoyed dangling the more exciting cases over my head."

"What do you mean?" The phone rang again. "Sorry." He went back to the desk and picked up the CDC phone. "Director Thrombey," he answered. "No, no, no," he said as the harried doctor one of the hunters was working with launched into a panicked description of what was happening to one of her patients. "Absolute quarantine. I don't care what it looks like it's doing—no one touches it and no one goes in there until our agents handle it." He sighed as she continued to panic. "Well, then, lock him up in a room separate from the first one and quarantine him too. And _stop_ sending people in to test it." He waited until she agreed before hanging up.

"If you're a doctor, you should know what the word 'quarantine' means," he grumbled. "It does _not_ mean sending someone in there to poke the thing with a needle."

Peggy chuckled.

"Sorry," he said, sitting back down. "You were saying about exciting cases?"

"Oh, that. Well," she said, pushing a stray carrot around her plate. "I tended to get stuck with a lot of cases dealing with faeries, or water horses, or general hauntings. Very run of the mill, very…safe—as far as hunting goes, anyway. When I asked for more, I was told I should be a bit more… _friendly_ with the boys divvying out the cases. If you catch my meaning."

"If I…" Steve repeated, trying to figure out what she meant, but caught on as she arched a significant eyebrow. "Oh! Ew," he grimaced. "Yeah, okay, I…I'd move continents for that."

He felt kind of silly for stumbling over the last half of the sentence, but something in the way she smiled back at him made him think that had been the right answer.

The phone rang again, and he closed his eyes and shook his head. "It never rings this much when I'm here by myself." He stuffed his last bite of chicken into his mouth and returned to the desk. "Officer Adler," he said. "No," he sighed. "Tommy, this is the County Police Department phone. I put my number as the very first one in your speed dial! You had to scroll past, like, eighteen other numbers to get to this one. Okay, okay, forget it. What's wrong?" Steve sighed as Tommy listed all the problems with his case. "Well, you're going to have to dry it off now. You set it on fire, _then_ douse it in holy water. It's basic science, Tommy, if you get it wet first, it won't ignite."

He heard Peggy chuckle at the table behind him.

He walked Tommy through the rest of the steps to kill the monster of the week—honestly how that man was still alive was anyone's guess—and when he was finally done, Peggy was gone from the table. She seemed to have cleared the table before she left, which was thoughtful of her, so Steve headed into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Peggy was already doing it.

"Oh! Um, hey, you don't have to do that," Steve said.

"I don't mind," Peggy said, placing the last dish in the drying rack. "You did cook, so it seemed fair." She turned around and smiled. "It was delicious, by the way. Thank you."

"Oh, um, thanks," he replied. "I mean, it was just chicken and mushrooms," he protested. "It wasn't much."

"It's been ages since I've had a proper home-cooked meal, and it was wonderful," she insisted. "Now, I suspect the answer's no, seeing as I'm on this side of the pond, but have you got tea and a kettle?"

"There's an electric kettle by the toaster," he said. "Tea's above the microwave."

"That will work." Peggy set water to boiling, then opened the cabinet above the microwave. "Well, this is a surprise!" she said happily, looking at his selection of tea. "I would never have put you down as a tea drinker."

"I like the way it tastes," he said. "And coffee gives me supraventricular tachycardia, so…"

"Well, that sounds dreadful and best avoided," she said. "I think I'll go with blackberry; would you like some too?"

"Sounds great."

Once the tea was made, they returned to the library—Peggy had routed out an entire nest of ghouls, but their behavior had been atypical, so she thought it should be noted down somewhere. She recounted the story for Steve and he took notes for the database, then they spent a little while reading up on probable causes for the change in behavior. The phone rang three more times while they were working, and Superintendent Storm, Father Shea, and Doctor Gant were all able to give appropriate reassurances to the curious research assistant, the suspicious Mother Superior, and the overwhelmed nurse, respectively.

"Is it really just you answering phones in here all day?" Peggy wondered.

"Well, like I said, they don't ring near this much when I don't have company," Steve said. "Most of the time I'm looking up new cases for people, working on the database, or doing research."

"Do you ever want to be out in the field hunting?" she wondered.

He considered. "I've thought about it," he said. "Grandad would be rolling in his grave if he could hear me say that, by the way."

"Was he of the opinion that the Men of Letters were the superior scholars, and the hunters were the mindless brutes who did the dirty work?" she asked.

Steve huffed a laugh. "You met him, huh?"

"Met plenty like him," she said, taking a final sip of her tea and standing up and stretching. "But I think if you're interested, you should give it a go." She yawned. "Speaking of going, I think I shall go to bed," she said. She smiled. "Good night, Steve."

"Good night, Peggy."

She was gone by the time Steve got up in the morning, but she left a note on the library table thanking him for his hospitality and praising his choice of replacement mattress in Room Fourteen. Steve smiled a little wistfully—it had been nice having someone around to talk to, particularly someone who did not look down on him as some kind of glorified errand boy, or laugh at his interest in seeing what it was like in the field. Still, such was the life. He might hear from her a few more times, but the transient nature of hunters was such that she'd probably drift over into someone else's area eventually. But then, with that transient nature, maybe one day she'd drift back. He kept the note.

The next couple of weeks passed by as usual, fielding phone calls, looking for suspicious patterns in the papers, and doing research. Erikson and Collins passed through, and they were much messier house guests than Peggy had been. Freaking burger wrappers everywhere.

A few days later, the little bell over his desk chimed, and a, "Hello?" echoed down the stairs.

"Peggy?" Steve said, standing up and smiling in surprise. "You're back."

"I am," she replied. "In need of your shower once again," she added.

Steve had stopped several feet away from her. "Yeah, I can tell," he said. "Smells like Kitsune."

"Cheeky," she replied, brushing past him. "Though I am impressed by your sense of smell," she added.

Steve had actually been planning on going out and picking up Chinese food for dinner since he didn't have a lot of groceries around, but remembering how much Peggy had enjoyed having a homecooked meal, he dug through the kitchen and came up with enough for meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

Peggy had not appeared by the time everything was in the oven, and so, after hesitating and second-guessing himself a lot, Steve ventured down the hallway. The bathroom was free, and the door to her room was open, and he stood there confused for a minute before deciding to check the infirmary. It was mostly closed, but he could hear someone moving around inside. Had she gotten hurt on her last case?

"Peggy?" he asked, pushing the door open tentatively. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said hastily, turning away from the door.

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, backing out quickly at the realization that she wasn't wearing a shirt. His brain blanked for a long moment, then finally processed what he had seen—namely, the red gashes running across her back. "Um, do you…Do you need help?"

"I've got it, thanks," she replied, followed by the sound of something falling to the floor and a mumbled curse.

"I, I didn't see a lot," he said. "But those looked like they needed stitches. Are you sure you don't need help?"

Silence for a moment. "I might need a bit," she admitted. There was a shuffling sound, then, "I'm decent; you can come in."

She was sitting on the exam table with her back to the door, holding her shirt up against her chest. Now that he was close enough to get a good look, he could see there were three gashes, running across the back of her left shoulder. There were bandages fixed to the lower ends of each one. "I couldn't reach the tops of them properly," she said. "I'm sure they'll heal up on their own in time, but I'd rather not bleed on everything until they do."

"They don't look too bad," Steve said. "The top one is going to need stitches, though."

"Do you know how to do that?" she asked a little uncertainly.

Steve smiled reassuringly. "Part of my job. We should probably clean these out with holy water first, though."

"I did that already," she said. "Burned like hell. Did you not hear me yell in the shower?"

"No," he admitted. "That's good that it burned, though. Means it got the poison out. I'm gonna wash it out one more time anyway, just to make sure. Let me just get some stuff."

He collected the tools and medicines he would need, then sterilized his hands. "Local anesthetic okay?" he asked.

"Yes, please," she said. He filled a syringe and injected it into her shoulder. "I've got to remember to get more of that," she mused. "My personal first aid kit is running frightfully low."

"You can stock up here, if you want," Steve offered, threading the suturing needle while he waited for the painkiller to kick in. "It's a lot easier for Doctor Gant to restock his supplies than I imagine it would be for whatever your current alias is."

Peggy chuckled. "Yes, I suppose it would be. Thank you."

He cleaned out the wounds again, and they hissed just a little as it cleared the last of the poison out, then he started stitching the big one up, making sure to focus on his work and not on the sudden awareness that he'd never been this close to her before. "Do you want a cool scar, or should I try to avoid one?" he asked. He knew some hunters wore their scars like badges of honor.

"I've got enough scars as it is," she said. "Though I doubt it can be avoided completely."

"I'll do my best," he said, focusing on making his stitches as tiny as possible. "How'd it happen?"

Peggy told him her latest battle story while he worked. It turned out there had been three Kitsune, not just one, and Steve was impressed that the cuts on her shoulder were the only injuries she'd walked away with. The lower two gashes were shallower and only needed to be bandaged over once he was done with the first one. He offered her some pain pills, which he was a little surprised she accepted—most hunters didn't. Probably part of the whole 'tough guy' routine.

"Thank you, Steve," she said, carefully sliding back into her shirt while he washed his hands at the sink in the corner.

"You're welcome," he said. "Sorry you got hurt."

"Oh, it happens," she said, waving his concern away. "Would it be too much of an imposition if I asked to stay on for a few days until it heals a bit? I'm not quite in fighting form, though I can find a motel if more than one night is overstaying my welcome."

"What? Oh, no, it's fine!" he assured her. "Stay as long as you need."

"You don't mind?" she pressed. "It is your home, after all."

"Please stay," he said.

She smiled warmly. "Thank you."

He smiled back. "You want dinner?"

Her smile widened. "I thought I smelled something delicious over the tang of antiseptic."

They went back to the library for dinner, and the phones only interrupted them twice this time—Colonel Levinson had to field a call from a suspicious Army Captain, and Agent Jensen answered the CIA phone to assure a big-city cop that his team was on the level.

"You know, you have an awful lot of aliases," Peggy pointed out. "Get IDs printed up for them and you could be a proper hunter."

Steve chuckled. "I think all my alter-egos are a little too high-level for field work. CDC Directors don't spend much time outside of Atlanta."

"Fair point," she replied, going for more potatoes. "Well, we'll get you some proper low-level grunts if you decide to give it a go."

They finished dinner and cleaned up, and since there wasn't anything case-related to work on, Peggy made tea again and they moved to the far end of the library to watch TV. There was a Doctor Who marathon going on the BBC, which Steve was interested in but hadn't intended to press, but Peggy pounced on it eagerly. It was running the fourth series more or less in order, and she hadn't caught all of that one. They spent the evening enjoying the adventures in time and space and arguing good-naturedly over who the best Doctors and companions were.

The next few days were…really nice. Steve was usually content to do his work and his research alone, but Peggy was good company. She was funny and smart, and she had great stories to tell, both about her hunting adventures and her life back in England. She had a good eye for patterns, and she helped him with a series of events he'd been tracking in Michigan, finding the last piece that pointed to a Basilisk hatching in time to get some hunters on top of it before it became a problem.

There was one day where she'd been working on some exercises for her shoulder, and Steve was down in the shooting range, practicing like he sometimes did. He couldn't hear a thing with his ear protection on, and just about jumped out of his skin when a hand landed on his shoulder.

"Peggy," he said, after he felt like he could breathe again.

"Sorry, that was my fault," she said, eyeing the new hole he'd just shot in the floor. "I shouldn't have startled you."

"Maybe just flick the lights next time or something."

"Sorry," she said again, smiling apologetically. She nodded out at the target on the wall. "You're quite a good shot."

"You sound surprised," Steve said.

She blushed a little. "I wouldn't've expected it," she admitted "It's the glasses."

Steve chuckled. "They're there to help me see better, you know. Now, my aim with _out_ the glasses…"

"Fair point." She nodded at the assorted weapons on the table behind him. "Having trouble with the rifle?" she asked.

"How long were you watching me?" he wondered. He _was_ having trouble with the rifle. Always had.

"Enough to see that you've got very good aim with everything but the rifle. You keep pulling off to the right, and I don't think you're bracing yourself properly. Do you mind if I show you?"

"Uh, sure."

After a couple of minutes, she was able to figure out that he was involuntarily anticipating the kickback, and jerking back just a little before it actually happened to keep it from hurting his shoulder, which was pulling the shot off center. The new bracing position she showed him helped, but even though he could see what he was doing wrong now, it was still tricky trying to make himself stop doing it.

"You just need practice," she said, clapping his shoulder encouragingly. "Now that you know what to look for, it shouldn't take too long to sort it."

"Thanks," he said, appreciating the help. He didn't really foresee himself in a situation where he was actually going to need the rifle, but he liked to be prepared.

He headed off to the grocery store not too long after to pick up some fresh produce for a salad for dinner, and when he came back, he discovered they had more company. "There's two other hunters that just arrived," Peggy said, looking up over the back of the chair she was draped across in the library. "Said they were called Martinez and Hodge."

"Oh, okay. Guess I'll make more for dinner, then," he said.

"You want help?" she offered.

"Nah, I'm alright," he said. "Go ahead and finish your book."

He got to work on cooking pork chops, and decided to go ask Peggy if she'd prefer rice or potatoes as a side, but stopped outside the door to the library at the sound of the conversation coming from inside.

"Yeah, Kitsune poison can be a real kicker," Martinez was saying. "I'm a little surprised you've got that much range of motion back so fast."

"Yes, well, Steve did a very thorough job of fixing it up," Peggy replied.

Hodge snorted. "Good to know the little dweeb is good for something," he said. "Surprised the sight of blood didn't make him faint."

Martinez chuckled, but there was something very icy in Peggy's tone when she replied. "Excuse me?"

Steve could practically hear Hodge rolling his eyes. "Oh, you know what I mean."

"I don't, really," Peggy replied.

"He's just saying," Martinez explained. "It's the Men of Letters type, you know? Bunch of pencil pushers sitting in their nice, safe bunkers up to their noses in old books."

"Exactly," Hodge agreed. "Not that it's not nice having a place to crash from time to time, but these soft little guys wishing they had what it takes to actually be a hunter can get on your nerves sometimes, acting like they know it all and not wanting to get their hands dirty." He sniffed. "I'm just sayin', it's nice to know the little guy has some actual skills."

Steve sighed. It's not like he didn't know there were hunters that felt that way (and he'd never liked Hodge much anyway), but it was awfully disheartening to hear it out loud.

"I think," Peggy began, not quite loud enough to cover a pained-sounding grunt from Hodge. "You will find Steve is more than capable. Those old books he's up to his nose in have saved many a hunter's skin on a panicked phone call in the middle of the night. And who do you think puts together weather patterns to mark demon appearances, or follows murder trails to tell you which way a shifter is travelling, or notices environmental signs that put people on the case to stop an Elemental swarm before anyone gets hurt? You think these cases just magically fall into your lap? Without Steve and the other Men of Letters, you would be drifting around the country in that pathetic excuse for a truck you parked outside just hoping to stumble into a case before too many people got hurt with no resources, no backup, and no direction." There was another uncomfortable noise from Hodge that sounded suspiciously close to a squeak.

"Hunters like you two are a dime a dozen, and the skills he uses to keep you in business are invaluable and far more difficult to replace than yours are. You would do well to remember that," Peggy said in a voice that would have made Steve fear for his life if he'd been on the receiving end of it.

"Now," she continued in an overly-friendly tone that was even scarier than the one she'd just been using. "I think you two would be much happier with a cheap motel and some fast food tonight, don't you?" A pause. "I thought so. Be careful not to let the door smack you in the head on the way out."

There was the sound of moving feet, and Steve realized his heart was pounding like he'd just run a marathon and he was grinning like an idiot. He'd gotten used to defending himself when he needed to and letting snide little sideways comments roll off without too much damage, but…No one had ever stood up for him like that before. He had someone in his corner—and not just anybody, a hunter like Peggy Carter!—and that was a good feeling.

He heard Peggy start walking away from the front door, and he hurried back into the kitchen, busying himself at the stove and acting like he wasn't trying to process what he probably wasn't supposed to have heard.

"Steve?" she said, poking her head into the kitchen.

"Yeah?" he responded, turning his head enough to acknowledge her but not quite enough to meet her eye.

"It would seem our guests decided they preferred a rest stop with a bit more action, so they went back to town," she said. "Hopefully you've not made too much food."

"Oh, okay," he replied. "No, it'll keep."

"That's good," she said, then returned to the library.

Steve was surprised he'd managed to get all six of those words out over the knot in his throat and the smile that wouldn't drop from his lips. Wow.

Peggy's shoulder was better in the next couple of days, so she packed up again and got back on the road. The bunker felt a little more lonely with her gone, but Steve was hopeful this time that she'd be back. And she was, three weeks later. He came back from the grocery store to find her digging through the kitchen cabinets for a snack. Every couple of weeks, she would make her way back, and while she claimed it was for the food and the bed, she also mentioned that the civilized company was nice, and Steve thought that maybe she enjoyed their visits as much as he did.

She started calling from the road, too. Usually it was for help with a case or chasing down a lead, but she would stay on the line and chat a little after Steve got her the answer she was looking for. After she called him a little frantically in the middle of the night one time needing to know how to defeat some sort of djinn/wraith hybrid that she'd misidentified as just a wraith going in, she started calling him after cases too to let him know she'd made it out alright. He stitched up any more wounds she came back with, and she brought him books on lore and new photographs for his database. After teasing him that his kitchen produced delicious food, but lacked a homey quality, she started bringing him fridge magnets, the gaudiest, most touristy ones she could find, and it turned into a game where she would try to get each new one somewhere on the fridge and get back on the road before he noticed it. Steve made sure he always had blackberry tea and ingredients for salad, and he made shortbread for her once after a wistful comment she made about her grandmother's. The way she smiled at him for that made his stomach turn a couple of flips.

"You still fancy getting out in the field some day?" she asked one evening over ice cream.

Steve sighed. He kept thinking about it, but never doing it. "Some day, I guess."

She grinned and stood up, walking over to his desk and perching on the edge, swinging her feet back and forth. "So, find something local, then," she said, nodding at his laptop. "We'll go out tomorrow and hunt a ghost or something."

Steve felt his mouth dropping open. "Really?"

"Why not?"

"You would take me on a case with you?"

"Yeah. You can shoot, and you certainly know your lore. It'll be fun."

Which is how the next afternoon found Steve Rogers, Man of Letters and eighth generation legacy, crawling through a sewer on a hunt for a shapeshifter that was gearing up for a murder spree, still not entirely sure how he'd let Peggy talk him in to this.

Seeing as he was in a sewer and all, he'd passed several disgusting things that he didn't really want to look at, but something in the way this particular puddle of slime caught the light gave him pause. "Ugh, that is so gross," he muttered to himself, catching sight of an ear floating in the gooey mess, then pulled out his phone to text Peggy and let her know the shifter had shed its skin. Who knew what it looked like now?

He kept following the trail of disgustingness, beginning to wonder what would happen if he ran into the thing before the tunnel Peggy was in converged with his. Sure, he was loaded up on silver weaponry, and he knew what he was supposed to do to take it down, but it was all just theory. He'd never done it before. And what if it had shifted into some giant six-and-a-half-foot tall guy? Could he even reach its heart to stab it?

Fortunately, Peggy appeared in the next intersection, and he let out a sigh of relief. "Well, we're definitely on the right track," he said, pointing to the thinning trail of goo on the floor. "Have you seen any more signs of it?"

"No," she said. "Let's keep looking this way."

"What happened to your jacket?" he asked as he followed her. She'd been wearing a green jacket when they came in.

She gave an embarrassed chuckle. "Slipped and landed in something too disgusting to mention. I left it back there," she said, nodding to the tunnel.

"Oh." That was a little weird—he knew she liked that jacket, but then, he supposed it did depend on what she'd fallen in. But hadn't she…He was second-guessing himself now, because she _had_ been in a jacket, but hadn't the tank top under it been blue? Maybe not. Maybe it was just the light. She stepped into a better-lit patch as they passed under a grate, and Steve swallowed down a lump in his throat and forced himself not to stop short in surprise and let her know something was wrong, because no matter what color her shirt was supposed to be, it was a tank top, and he could see her shoulder blade, and there should have been a thin scar from a kitsune running across it. Crap.

"Hey, um," he said, stopping and making a show of digging through his pockets to buy himself some time. "Sorry, I can't find my…" He kept digging, checking on the position of his holster. "Too much stuff in here," he huffed. "Will you hold this for a second?"

He held out a handful of miscellaneous junk, and Definitely- _Not_ -Peggy hissed in furious pain as the silver coin hidden under the other stuff touched her palm. "Little baby hunter's smarter than he looks," she chuckled, silver flashing across her eyes.

The gun was sticking in the holster, but he slid his knife free of the sheath and held it up in front of him. Just in time too, because she jumped him and they went rolling across the floor. He heard her skin sizzle as he got in several good slashes with his knife, but she managed to block every attempt he made at her heart. She threw some pretty good punches too, reinforcing what he had previously just known in theory, that shifters really _were_ stronger than normal people.

"Ah!" he cried out, batting her raking fingernails away from his face but leaving his arm open to an attack from her teeth, which sank deep down into the flesh of his shoulder. Then all the air was being crushed out of his lungs as more weight landed on top of them before suddenly disappearing, taking the shifter with it.

"Steve, are you alright?" a voice called that sounded like Peggy, and it probably really was this time, since he didn't think the shifter knew his name. It was hard to tell for sure, though, because his glasses had come off somewhere in all the rolling around, and all he could see were two vaguely human-shaped things exchanging blows, but one of them was wearing green, so that was probably the real Peggy.

"I'm good!" he replied. He had no idea where his glasses were, but the ferocity of the punches being exchanged and the hissing of silver slashing at shifter skin told him things were getting pretty intense in the blurry fight over there. He yanked his gun out of his holster, took aim at the blur not wearing green and stared at it for what felt like several long seconds to make sure he had it right, then fired.

Sudden silence fell on the tunnel. "What was that about not being able to aim without your glasses?" Peggy asked at last.

He swung the gun back in her direction, and she smiled, stepping closer so he could actually see her face. "Good instinct, but it's really me," she said. She held up the silver knife she'd been carrying, then laid the blade flat on her arm. Nothing happened.

"Oh," he said, and suddenly his hands were shaking. "Sorry."

"No, it's alright," she replied. "Like I said, good instinct." She bent down, then straightened up with his glasses in her hand. "Here."

"Thanks," he said, sliding them back on. Peggy, the tunnel, and the dead shifter that was oozing back into a puddle of goo all came back into sharp focus. "Wow. That was…I don't think I ever…I mean…"

"That was really well done," she said, smiling proudly, and Steve would have enjoyed the way she was smiling at him more if he didn't feel like his heart was about to pound right out of his ribcage. "Are you alright?"

"I'm good," he said, nodding. "Yeah. Good. Yeah, I'm good. I really just did that. I just…" He gestured at the puddle on the floor.

"Yes, you did," she said.

"I was actually, like, a hunter."

"Yes, you were." She was smiling like she wanted to start laughing, and it was probably because he was starting to ramble, but he wasn't sure how to turn it off.

"Wow, if Grandad could see me now," he said. "If we get back to the bunker, and it's being haunted by an angry old guy in a blue bathrobe, then I'll know I really pissed him off. He's buried in Connecticut, though. If he wanted to haunt me, do you think he'd be there by the time we got back? I don't know how fast ghosts can travel. I should look that up. He was right about the working conditions, though. It's a lot less gross in the bunker."

"It is," Peggy agreed, still smiling. "Doesn't have quite the same rush, though, does it?"

"Nuh uh," he agreed. "Wow, I'm still alive."

"You are," Peggy agreed. "Since this one doesn't require a salt and burn, shall we get out of here and celebrate?"

"Yeah, okay. Although, should we…It bit me. Do we need to go to the hospital? Am I going to turn into a shifter?"

Peggy huffed an exasperated laugh. "Steve, you know more creature lore than anyone I've ever met. Are you really asking that question?"

"Well, no, I mean, I think I know what the answer is," Steve said, aware that he was speaking faster and starting to gesture more wildly with his hands. "But I've just got this rush of…I don't think I've ever felt this much adrenaline in my life, and there's maybe a little bit of panic there too, and my brain isn't going as fast as my words are coming—"

"You're not going to turn into a shifter," Peggy assured him. "That's not how they work. You're thinking of werewolves."

"Okay," he replied. That's what he had thought. "That's good."

She eyed the bite on his shoulder. "You might need a tetanus shot, though."

"Yeah, okay."

"Come on," she said, putting a hand on his uninjured shoulder and steering him toward the exit.

Steve had his breath back and his brain had slowed down by the time they got back to Peggy's car. "Have a seat," she said, directing him to the passenger seat and moving to the back to grab her first aid kit.

He sat down, feet sprawled out in front of him in the parking lot. "Hey, thanks for saving my life in there," he said, processing what had happened in the tunnels at a more reasonable speed and remembering her pulling the shifter off of him.

"You're welcome," she said as she cut his shirt collar open a bit wider so she could get at his shoulder. "Although, for your first hunt, you were holding your own remarkably well. Hold still."

Before he could say anything else, holy water was pouring over his shoulder, and the knowledge that the burning was good was lost in a sea of fire and a litany of curses.

When the world was back where he could see again, Peggy was chuckling as she jabbed the aforementioned tetanus shot into his shoulder. "Such language from a gentleman of letters," she said with a mock _tsk_ of disapproval. "Were you cursing in Mandarin?"

"Among other things," Steve said, shifting a little as she nudged him over so she could get a better reach at his shoulder. The antiseptic she was dabbing into it now stung a hell of a lot less than the holy water had. "English can be a little limited in expressing the depths of one's feelings in that regard."

She laughed again. "Well, it won't need stitches," she told him. "Bandages should fix it up nicely, though I can't promise you won't have a scar. Your first battle wound."

"Actually, this is my first one," he said, holding up his hand and angling his fingers to show her the thin line of scar tissue running the length of his middle finger. "Searching for an Egyptian cleansing ritual in a middle of the night emergency. Papyrus scrolls will give you a hell of a paper cut."

She let out a delighted snort of laughter. "Well, that's certainly not an injury most hunters can lay claim to." She smiled warmly as she packed away the medical supplies. "You really did well tonight," she told him. "You should be proud of yourself."

"Thanks," he said, something warm expanding around his suddenly fluttering heart.

"Come on," she said, patting his knee and straightening up. "Your first proper hunt—we're going to go out and celebrate like hunters. That means a bar, a drink, and a very greasy hamburger."

Steve laughed. "Sounds good."

It was early enough in the evening that the roadhouse they stopped at wasn't too crowded yet, which was just as well—that gave them space to smell like they'd been crawling through a sewer without bothering anyone besides their poor waitress, who Steve made sure to tip well when they left. Peggy insisted on buying him a celebratory whiskey, and they laughed as they ate their burgers and fries and played a few rounds of pool.

"Alright," Peggy said as they got back into the car. "I've got to know—where did you learn how to hustle pool?"

"It's just math," Steve replied. Peggy shot him an incredulous eyebrow and he laughed. "No, one of my friends back home taught me how to play. The hustling comes from taking advantage of the fact that the little guy with glasses and the inhaler looks really out of place in places like that."

She laughed. "So, is that how you finance everything in the bunker—by pretending to be sweet and innocent and hustling pool?"

"Nah, that's just recreational," Steve replied.

"How do you finance everything in the bunker?" Peggy wondered. "It's not as though this life hands you a paycheck every two weeks."

"Well, actually, the Men of Letters _do_ have a bank account, and everyone who runs a bunker gets a company card," he said. "They've been gathering interest since, I don't know, Ancient Greece? So it works pretty well to keep the lights on and get food on the table, and whatever else I need."

"So you do actually get a paycheck?" Peggy inclined her head thoughtfully. "Clearly I chose the wrong branch of monster-hunting."

Steve chuckled. "I'm guessing you do the usual credit card fraud and hustling pool?"

"Pool and poker, mostly," Peggy said. "Credit card fraud always struck me as unnecessary illegal activity that drew attention when I didn't need it to, and I'm very good at poker."

"We'll have to play sometime," Steve suggested.

"I'll go easy on you," Peggy said with a smirk.

The high of a successful hunt was somewhat diminished the next day when Steve woke up feeling like he'd been hit by a truck. Everything was sore from rolling around and fighting on the floor, and he could barely move his injured shoulder.

"You seriously do this all the time?" he wondered while Peggy inspected his wound.

"You get used to it," she said absently. "I imagine this still hurts, but it's looking much better. You'll want to keep putting antibiotic ointment on it until it closes up completely, though."

His shoulder healed up pretty nicely over the coming days, though it did leave a scar of which he was pretty proud. He didn't go flashing it around, but knowing it was there reminded him that he _was_ capable of doing the dirty parts of the job.

After that, whenever Peggy was in town, they'd find something within a day's drive of the bunker and take out a ghoul or a Chupacabra nest or a haunting. It was exciting, and it was great getting to work alongside Peggy and see her in action—she was freaking _amazing_. He'd stood there in awe one time as she fended off five zombies at once with a machete, feeling like he was watching Inigo Montoya dueling. Exciting as it was, going out and doing it when Peggy was around was plenty of excitement (and physical injury) for him. He was content to stay and do his normal Men of Letters thing the rest of the time, and he didn't kid himself that he could survive going out and trying it on his own.

After a few cases, Steve stopped doing the massive adrenaline dump rambling-like-an-idiot thing when they were over. He felt like he was starting to get the hang of things. Still, he wouldn't say he was falling into the trap of over-confidence—he was rarely confident outside of the library, really. No, he didn't think hubris was at fault for the fact that he was now waking up tied to a chair in a vetala den with ringing in his ears and a sore head—he was blaming that on the third vetala he could see lurking in the corner. Everyone knew vetalas hunted in pairs. He and Peggy had been ready for that. They'd had no reason to think there would be a third one.

"S'cheating," he grumbled, his voice raspy in his throat.

The vetala chuckled and flashed him a smile that showcased all of her fangs before moving to join her two companions in the better light. "Well," she said. "Since hunters killed my partner, teaming up with another pair seemed like the safer bet."

"Wasn' me," Steve slurred, still feeling kind of muzzy-headed. He didn't think they'd hit him _that_ hard. "I didn' kill 'em." Was he trying to talk her out of enacting her revenge on him? That probably wasn't going to work. Actually, if the fuzzy brain and the pain he was starting to become aware of in his neck was any indication, they'd probably fed on him once already.

"You're still a hunter," she hissed. "Works for me."

"Ah!" he cried out as she lunged for his neck, sinking her fangs in. He was conscious long enough to have the thought that feeling the blood getting sucked out of his neck was a very weird, slightly nauseating sensation, then the poison from her fangs kicked in and he passed out again.

The next time he woke up, he was alone and it was dark. He was vaguely aware that that was bad, but it took a little while to think through the fog in his brain to figure out why. Oh, right. Vetalas. Three of them. Peggy was probably okay, since she wasn't in here, and they'd probably be taunting him about killing her or something and how alone he was if they'd done that. She would have noticed fairly quickly that he'd gone missing, so, until proved otherwise, he was going to hold out hope that she was going to come find him. There was very little he could do to get himself out of this mess on his own. Even if his muscles hadn't been numb and heavy from the poison, he was stuck pretty good to the chair, and he'd never been very good at getting out of handcuffs. Maybe Peggy could show him that next. He bet she knew how.

He sat there on his own for a little while, testing his range of motion and wondering what the vetalas were up to. Not that he wanted them in here eating him or anything, but it was like being in the room with a really big spider or something. It was just better to know where it was.

He tensed when the two he and Peggy had been hunting came back into the room. They seemed to be arguing about something in hushed tones, and it didn't take him long to figure out they were arguing about what to do with him. Evidently, Peggy was on their trail. That was good news. The bad news was, one of them thought Steve wasn't worth the hassle of carting along with them, and was arguing that they should just drain him dry instead and run.

"Look," he began as they moved toward him. "If you're worried about logistics, I'm pretty light. Easy to carry. Taking me with you won't slow you down," he pointed out. Not that he wanted to go anywhere with them, but if his choices were that or desiccation, he could play the part of a packed lunch until Peggy caught up with them.

"You _are_ little," said the one who seemed to be on the fence about taking him or not. She looked him up and down, and Steve's heart sank at the hungry look in her eye. "Little enough there's probably only one good drink left in you anyway. May as well finish you off now."

"No, wait—" Steve started, only to be cut off by the sharp stab of fangs jabbing into both sides of his neck as they both descended on him. The one on the left gasped and jerked sharply, then fell away from him into a heap on the floor. The other one and Steve both looked up to see Peggy standing in its place, blood shining on the silver knife in her hand and fire shining in her eyes.

Peggy lunged for the second one, but it was quick and dove away, screeching in fury like a wounded animal. The creature was stronger than Peggy, but its rage at the death of its packmate was blinding it, and Peggy took advantage of its sloppiness to land several well-aimed punches before ramming the knife into its heart.

Steve's throat couldn't quite figure out the way to say how amazing that was, so, hopefully the way he was looking at Peggy as she walked back to him was saying it. Her relieved smile made him feel warm inside, though the smile changed to concern as she got closer and got a good look at his neck.

"Bloody hell," she muttered. "Are you okay?"

"Mm," Steve said with a clumsy nod, all he could get out at the moment. There hadn't been much time for them to inject a lot of venom into his veins during that last feeding, but it _had_ been a double dose since there were two of them. Two of them…Crap! There weren't just two of them. "Three," he mumbled, his tongue feeling thick and fuzzy in his mouth.

"What?" Peggy asked, setting down her bloody knife and getting to work on the cuffs fastening him to the chair.

No, don't put down the knife, there's three of them! That was what he tried to say, but, again, all that would come out was a slurred, "three."

"Don't worry; I'll have you free in just a minute," she assured him.

"No," he moaned. That wasn't what he'd been trying to say.

"Ssh," she soothed, looking up from her work and putting a hand briefly to his cheek. "You're going to be alright. I'll get you out of here and fixed up; I promise."

Steve really liked the way she was holding his cheek, but that really wasn't what he was trying to say and—crap, there was the third one! It was coming up in the shadows of the room, in Peggy's blind spot. Peggy couldn't see it, and Steve was stuck to the chair, and…

The cuff on his second wrist snapped open, and as Peggy leaned down to get the ones on his ankles, the vetala leaped forward. Still not entirely sure of what he was doing but propelled forward on a panicked surge of adrenaline, Steve threw himself forward, his right hand snatching up the angel blade that was strapped to Peggy's thigh and his left hand landing on her back, shoving against her and giving himself more momentum to lunge forward and slam the blade into the vetala's chest.

He hadn't quite gotten it in the heart, but the knife was stuck firm in its chest, and Peggy was turning around and flying forward even as his poison-weakened muscles gave out and he hit the floor, tumbling against the chair he'd dragged with him that was still attached to his left ankle. Peggy grabbed the hilt of the knife that was sticking out of the monster's chest and yanked hard, eliciting an ear-piercing screech as the blade sliced sideways through its chest and into its heart.

Sudden silence, aside from the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. Then Peggy was leaning over him, her hands on the side of his face. "Steve?" she asked anxiously.

"M'okay," he rasped.

She moved to help him sit up, a worried smile on her face. "You were saying 'three' just now, weren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry," she said, red rising in her cheeks. "I thought—"

"S'okay," he replied, smiling. "Worked out alright."

She huffed a laugh. "It did. Are there any more?" she asked, her eyes darting away from him to scan the room.

Steve shook his head, then winced. His neck did _not_ approve of the motion. "No," he said.

"Good. Ready to get out of here?"

"Hell, yes."

Peggy detached him from the chair and got him outside and to her car, where she gave him a bottle of water to drink while she cleaned up his wrists where the cuffs had rubbed them raw. Once he was slightly better hydrated, she turned her attention to his neck, and everything went black for a while under the cleansing fire of holy water washing over the puncture wounds. When he woke up, he was lying across the back seat of Peggy's car. His head was in her lap, and one of her hands was brushing through his hair.

"Hey," he croaked.

Her gaze met his and she smiled. Light from somewhere was flickering and shooting sparks of amber through her hazel eyes. She had great eyes. "Hello," she said. "How do you feel?"

He considered for a moment. "Alright," he said at last. He sat up gingerly. Evidently, he'd been out a little longer than he'd thought—Peggy had had time to treat and bandage his neck, and to salt and burn the vetala bodies. The flickering light in her eyes came from the building across the parking lot that was on fire.

"Thanks for saving me," he said.

"You're welcome," she replied. Her smile softened. "And thank you for saving _me_."

"Oh, that was…" he started. Nothing, really. Just instinct.

"It was incredible," she said, and Steve couldn't help smiling proudly at the admiration in her eyes. "I've been on the receiving end of a vetala bite before," she went on. "I know how hard it is to move with that venom in your blood."

"Well, venom and adrenaline," he said. "That helped." She smiled. "Watching you in there, though," he continued. "That was amazing."

She smiled wider. "You're just saying that because I saved your life."

Steve chuckled, and it only hurt his throat a little bit. "No. I meant the way you fought in there, and tracking me so fast from where they took me. The saving my life part…" He shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe it's arrogant of me, but I just sort of assumed you would."

Her smile changed then into something that made it hard for Steve to breathe, but in a good way. "You trusted me that much?" she asked. "Tied to a chair and having the life drained out of you, and you just knew I was coming?"

He smiled at her warmly. "Yeah," he said.

She studied him for a long moment, then resolution settled across her eyes as she seemed to come to some sort of decision. "I was really worried about you," she said, and there was a vulnerability in her tone that Steve had never heard before. "You were right to assume I was coming, but the thought of not getting there in time…" She trailed off and shook her head. "Since getting to know you over the last year, you…you've become very important to me. I could have lost you tonight, and I never…" She shook her head again. "I'm not very good at this," she said with an embarrassed smile. "Which is probably why I've not said anything before now, but _that_ can't go on; though I'm still not really sure of the words I want, so maybe this will do it."

Before Steve could ask what she meant, she'd taken his face in her hands and was kissing him like her life depended on it.

"Y—yeah," Steve stammered when she pulled away. "That, that'll get your point across pretty well." He was pretty sure he was smiling like an idiot. She was smiling back, but looking at him like she was waiting for a response, and he suddenly understood what she meant about having trouble finding the words you wanted. So he grinned and leaned forward and planted his lips on hers again. He kissed her as deep as his asthma would let him, and then he found the words he was looking for. "I love you, Peggy Carter," he whispered.

He felt her lips smiling against his. "Those were the words I was trying to find," she said softly. She pulled away just enough to look into his eyes. "I love you too, Steve Rogers." She kissed him gently. "Though this might be the last hunt I ever let you go on."

* * *

_That's it for the Supernatural AU!_

_Next up, the English countryside and a little bit of fairy magic._


	3. The Fairy In The Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is set in England in the 1920's—think one of the calm country estates in an early Agatha Christie novel (except free of murder). We're taking a dip into the fantastical, with Peggy as the little girl who lives on the estate who meets a certain skinny little blond-haired, blue-eyed fairy under the willow tree in her garden one day…

* * *

When Peggy Carter was five years old, she was allowed to play in the garden on her own. The garden was full of beautiful flowers, bushes to hide in and trees to climb, and there were little stone paths and a gazebo off to one side. Peggy's favorite part of the garden, though, was the large willow tree in the back. It marked the edge of where she was allowed to play, since it was where the garden stopped and the woods beyond began. It was a hard rule to follow, though—the willow tree was so inviting. Its long branches swept the ground and made a little canopy, cool and shaded inside, with butterflies flitting about and sunlight flickering through the gaps in the leaves in a way that felt sort of magical. Peggy loved it, and she often ventured inside, reasoning that the tree was on the edge of the yard, but still in it, so she wasn't breaking any rules.

Sometimes she would bring her dolls and play there, and sometimes she would climb up in the tree and play imaginary games. It felt sometimes like something was watching her when she was there, but not in a frightening way. It felt safe. Maybe the tree was looking after her.

It wasn't long after she turned six that she learned she wasn't the only one who played by the willow tree. A faint rustling noise that sounded different from the wind in the branches caught her ears, and she looked up. A pair of the bluest eyes she'd ever seen were staring back at her. They widened in alarm as they met hers, and the little boy they belonged to jumped down from the branch he'd been sitting on and disappeared between the willow branches into the forest.

"Wait!" Peggy called, jumping up and hurrying after him. She made it several steps before she realized she was in the woods beyond the garden, where she wasn't supposed to be. "Hello?" she called. She looked around. The trees here were tall and stately, though the quiet between them didn't feel as solemn as it looked from the outside. There were birds singing in the trees, and Peggy thought she could hear the rippling of a stream. There was no one around.

"Little boy?" she called, feeling a bit silly, but she didn't know his name. "It's alright," she assured him, wherever he was. "I shan't get you into trouble." Perhaps that was why he'd run away—she knew her mother and father didn't like the local village boys messing about on the estate. "You can stay and play with me," she said. It would be rather nice, she thought, not to play on her own.

The little boy neither replied nor came out from where he was hiding, and after a few minutes, Peggy sighed and returned to the willow tree.

It was a couple of days later that he came back. Peggy spotted those blue eyes on the other side of the canopy of leaves and she smiled at them. "Hello," she said brightly. "Please don't run away," she added quickly. He didn't, but he didn't get any closer. Peggy smiled, trying to look friendly. Perhaps he was shy. "My name is Peggy," she said. "Would you like to come and play with me?"

He hesitated for a long moment, then the hanging leaves parted enough for him to poke his head inside. His face was thin, and his skin so pale as to be nearly white. Blond hair that looked quite soft but could use a trim framed his face.

Peggy smiled encouragingly. "You can come in," she said. "I don't bite." A faint smile tugged up the corners of his lips. "Come on," she coaxed, waving him inside.

His smile disappeared and he bit his lower lip, as though thinking hard about something. Then he drew a breath and stepped the rest of the way into the canopy.

"Oh," Peggy breathed. He was very small—shorter than her by about half a head, and he was very thin. There was something graceful in the way he moved, however, and though the bones of his face and hands looked sharp, Peggy got the distinct impression of softness from him. He was wearing a loose-fitting greyish-green shirt and brown pants, and his feet were bare. He didn't look like anyone Peggy had seen before, but it wasn't his odd clothes or waifish appearance that caught her attention. No, that would be the wings coming out of his back.

They were nearly as tall as he was, and though they were shaped like the wings of a butterfly, they were transparent, like a bumblebee. Faint veins ran through them, dividing them up into segments, and the light played through them and caught in places in bright sparkles. They were fluttering slightly, nervously almost, like they were preparing to take flight.

"Are you a fairy?" Peggy asked curiously. She'd read about fairies in books, but had never known they were real.

The little boy nodded.

Peggy stood up and took a few steps closer to him, and though his wings fluttered a little faster, he didn't run away. "I would have thought fairies were smaller," she said. "In books, you know, fairies are always small enough to hide inside a tulip, or something like that." There was another little smile. Peggy smiled back encouragingly. "Can you talk?" she wondered. He hadn't said anything yet.

"Yes," he said softly.

Peggy smiled wider. "What's your name?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it, seeming surprised that she'd asked the question. "I haven't got one," he replied.

Peggy's eyebrows furrowed, puzzled. "Really?" He shook his head. "What do the other fairies call you, then?"

"They don't. Fairies just…" He shrugged. "We just sort of know who each other are. Only the really important fairies get names, like queens or generals or something. You have to earn a name."

"Oh." Well, that was odd, but Peggy suspected it would be rude to say so. "Alright. Well, then, what shall I call you?" He looked confused and she smiled. "If we're going to be friends, I shall have to call you something."

He smiled widely, the first real smile Peggy had seen. It was a nice one. "You want to be my friend?" he asked.

"Of course," Peggy replied. She couldn't think of a name that seemed to fit him. "Should I just call you 'Fairy'?"

He smiled. "You can. Unless you know any other fairies to mix me up with."

"Just you," Peggy confirmed. She nodded. "Alright, then, Fairy. What would you like to play?"

They played until Peggy's mother called her for dinner. Peggy was hesitant to leave, but he assured her that he would come back when she wanted to play again. They played together a lot after that—sometimes he was waiting for her when she came out to the willow tree, and sometimes she would have to call him and wait a bit, but he always came. They would climb the tree or play games, and sometimes they would just sit and talk. He would tell her what it was like in the fairy world, and she thought it was funny that he was so interested in hearing from her about things like tea kettles and gas stoves and the post office.

"Well, _I_ think it's funny that you're so interested in summer songs and river magic and my pointy ears," he told her. "They're just as normal for me as afternoon tea is for you."

As time went on, sometimes they would venture into the forest to play, and they would climb the bigger trees and splash in the stream and pick berries. He never wanted to go up into the garden, though, in case anyone besides her saw him.

"Are you afraid of people?" Peggy wondered.

"A little," he said. "Most people don't believe in fairies anyway, but…" He sighed. "We're not really supposed to let people see us."

"What about me?" she wondered.

He smiled. "I'm not really supposed to be playing with you either. But you…Well, I thought you were interesting. I used to watch you, you know, when you would play by yourself under the tree. And I would think that you might be nice to get to know."

Peggy smiled. "Well, I'm glad you finally let me see you. I like you. I'm glad we're friends."

He smiled back warmly. "I'm glad we're friends too."

When Peggy turned seven, she had to start going to school. She could only play in the afternoons now, and there was more to do, but she still found time almost every day to go and play with her fairy. She didn't tell anyone else about him, though. She didn't want to get him in trouble, since people weren't supposed to know about him, and she realized that he was right, and most people didn't believe in fairies anyway. They would have just teased her about it.

"I was wondering," she said one day while they were sitting by the stream. She had taken her shoes off to cool her feet in the water. "Can I come and see where you live?"

He looked up, surprised, his wings fluttering nervously behind him. She'd learned that his wings moved in different ways depending on how he was feeling—when he was happy, they moved open and closed slowly, like a butterfly sunning itself on a flower petal; they snapped open all the way when he was startled; and when something was funny, the tops of them quivered back and forth. They didn't open very far when he was nervous or worried, but they vibrated quickly, fluttering close together like they were now.

"No!" he said sharply. "No, you can't do that!"

"Alright," Peggy said, taken aback by his sudden vehemence.

His cheeks flushed and he hung his head a little. "I'm sorry," he replied.

"It's alright," Peggy said. "I suppose it's not allowed?"

"No, it's allowed." The way he smiled when he said that said he found the statement anything but amusing. "But it's not…it's not safe. I know you like all the stories I tell about it, but…" He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, then reached over and took her hand. Peggy was surprised at the conviction in his eyes when he looked up at her. "Peggy, promise me you won't try to go there. Please," he added urgently when she didn't respond right away.

"Alright," she said. "I promise."

Relief swam across his face and his wings relaxed and opened up a little more. "Thank you," he said.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, Peggy mulling over what he'd said. "Um, is it alright if I ask," she began, not wanting to upset him again. "But, do _you_ like it there?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just, how you said it wasn't safe and everything. Are you okay there?" Maybe that was why he came to see her so often—to get away from it.

He smiled warmly, touched by her concern. "I'm okay," he said. "It's nice there, it just…It's not a good place for humans to be."

"Okay," Peggy said. She wanted to ask for more details, her curiosity piqued, but she could tell he didn't want to elaborate. "Well, just as long as you're alright there. Shall we see if we can find any blackberries?"

It didn't come up again, and Peggy didn't feel she should ask. She did start reading books about fairies—she'd stopped reading fairy tales when she met him, because what were stories compared to a real live fairy? But now she delved back into the books on her shelves with a more scholarly approach, wondering how much of it was true. It was hard to say, really. Stories about fairies were so varied, painting them as anything from helpful forest dwellers to mischievous pranksters to dangerous predators. Well, _her_ fairy certainly wasn't anything like that. Maybe it was just something having to do with people not having magic, and needing to have magic to live in the fairy world.

Speaking of magic, he showed her some of his every now and then. He wasn't really supposed to do that either, but since he'd gone as far as making friends with a human, well, what was one more little rule to break? He did explain that he wasn't very good at magic yet—he was still a young fairy, after all—but Peggy was in awe of the way he could make the ice on the stream frost over with beautiful patterns, or make flowers bloom out of reluctant buds, or call birds down from the trees to talk to him. Every once in a while, he would even take her to one of the clearings in the forest, hold on to her tightly, and fly with her up into the air.

"You know," Peggy told him after one such trip. "You're stronger than you look." She was nine now, and had gotten taller. He was growing too, but not quite keeping up with her—he was still almost a head shorter than her. "The first time we did that, I was worried you were going to drop me."

He laughed, the tips of his wings quivering. "Fairies _are_ smaller than people—though not as small as your books say we are." Peggy had brought one of her books out one time to show him an illustration of what people thought fairies might look like, and he had laughed at the tiny people dressed in flower petals so hard that he'd fallen off his tree branch. "But that doesn't mean we're not strong," he continued. "I have magic, remember? I could pick up a person even bigger than you if I wanted."

"How old are you?" she wondered suddenly. She'd never asked before, just assuming he was a child like her. He'd said he was a young fairy, and he was growing more or less along with her, so it seemed like he should be close to her age, but she didn't know how fairies worked. Maybe he was hundreds of years old.

He twisted a blade of grass thoughtfully between his long, thin fingers. "I don't know how to say it so you'd understand," he said at last. "Time moves different in the fairy world. I'm still a kid, if that's what you're asking. I was born in the last hatching, so…less than a hundred?"

Peggy let out an amused huff of air. "Well, that doesn't narrow it down, much. I'm less than a hundred, too, you know."

He smiled. "I know. We just count our ages different than you do. Fairies are only hatched during the summer solstice every one hundred years, and we count our ages in hatching cycles instead of years. So, when the next one happens, then I'll be one." He gave a little embarrassed smile. "I don't know how much where I am right now is in human years."

Peggy pondered this. "So, do you get old, then?" She waved a hand at him, taking in his appearance. "Are you always going to look like a little boy, or will you get old someday?"

"No, I'll get older," he said. "I'll look more like a grownup when I get a little older. But fairies don't get so old that they die. Other things besides old age can kill fairies, but if you can avoid those, you could live forever."

"Wow. What do you do with forever?" she wondered. That seemed like a terribly long time.

He smiled at her. "I don't know. I haven't gotten there yet."

Peggy enjoyed playing with her friend, but she also enjoyed the times when they just sat and talked. She would tell him about school and the friends she had there, and though he didn't know an awful lot about how humans worked, he would listen when she had problems and try to help her fix them. She would do the same for him when he talked about his life in the fairy world. They helped each other, and they made one another laugh. Peggy had plenty of human friends, but the time she spent in the woods with her fairy was very special to her.

The summer after she turned eleven, he was waiting for her under the willow tree one day, and he seemed anxious. "Is everything alright?" she asked him. His wings were fluttering so quickly they were lifting him off the ground a little bit.

"It's alright," he said, making a visible effort to control their fluttering and bring himself back down to earth. He smiled at her, but there was something wrong in it.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"I can't…It's just fairy things," he sighed. He looked very much like he wanted to tell her what those things were. But he didn't. "I brought you something," he said instead. "Hold out your hand."

Still puzzled, she did so. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out, dropping it quickly into her outstretched hand. It was a delicate chain with a little silver pendant on the end, carved to look like a tree. She held it up to look at it more closely and was amazed at the level of detail carved into the little charm. "It's lovely," she said. "Thank you." She held it up and examined it a moment longer, then slid the chain around her neck.

The nervous fluttering in his wings stopped, and he smiled. "Do you really like it?"

"I do," she said. "Where did you get it?" she wondered. Was this a special piece of fairy jewelry?

"Oh, it's something I had," he said, a bit vaguely. "But you'll keep it, won't you?" he asked.

"Of course," she said, placing a hand over it. "Always."

He smiled wider. "Good. I hoped you would like it." Whatever seemed to be troubling him was gone. Maybe he had just been nervous she wouldn't like the gift.

She didn't see him again after that for a long time. She didn't always see him every day anyway, but now she would go out to the willow tree, calling for him and receiving no answer. She ventured farther into the forest as well, but saw no sign of him. She didn't know what else to do to try to find him, so she just kept going out to the tree when she could. It was almost a month later when he came back.

"Peggy?" she heard a voice whisper, and she dropped the book she'd been reading and spun around.

"You're back!" she exclaimed, jumping up eagerly. "Where have you been? I've missed you! I—"

She stopped short as she got a look at him. He looked dreadful. At first she thought maybe he'd been ill—his skin was so pale it was nearly translucent, and if he'd been thin before, he was positively gaunt now. But then she saw the mottled bruising on the left side of his face, a vibrant shade of violet against the white of his skin. She saw the bandage around his right hand and the way he cradled it against his chest. She saw the gash on his neck and the stitches holding together the tear in one of his wings.

"What happened?" she breathed.

"It—I—I'm fine," he said. "I came to make sure you were alright. Are you okay?"

"What? I'm fine," she said.

"You're sure?" he pressed. He looked so worried that tears were pooling in his eyes. "Nothing's happened? I—"

"Yes, nothing's happened, and I'm completely fine," she said, walking over to him. "But you're not. Tell me what happened."

She took his uninjured hand and led him over to sit down against the tree. He followed willingly enough, though he moved like he was in pain, and he said nothing for several minutes after he sat down.

"Fairy?" she prodded gently, wishing she had a proper name to call him. "What's wrong?"

He sighed. "I got in trouble," he said softly. "With the other fairies."

Fire flared up in Peggy's chest. "The other fairies did this to you?"

He nodded.

"Why?!" she demanded. What could he have possibly done to— A sudden, painful knot caught in her throat. He wasn't supposed to be seen by humans. Had he been caught out spending time with her? Was this what happened to a fairy who broke the rules? "Did…Did they hurt you because of me?"

He was quiet for a long minute before nodding minutely.

"Oh," she breathed, her voice catching in her throat. "Oh. I'm so sorry!"

"It's not your fault," he said. "And it's not for the reason you think."

"What happened?" she asked again.

He sighed deeply. "Remember…Remember when you asked how old I was, and I told you about fairy hatchings?"

She nodded. "You said fairies are only born every one hundred years."

He nodded. "Uh huh. But that's a long time in between. And a long time ago, somebody figured out another way to make more fairies." He shifted uncomfortably. "Another way to get new fairies is for…For fairies to, to kidnap humans and take them to the fairy realm. There's magic there that can turn humans into fairies. They forget all about who they were before and where they came from, and they become fairies like the rest of us."

He stopped speaking, and Peggy stared at him for a long moment before it clicked. "You mean I…That was supposed to happen to me?"

He nodded sadly, his wings drooping in shame.

Anger flared up in her chest and she leapt to her feet. "You were going to do that to me?!" she demanded. Pain was lancing through the anger, bringing furious tears to her eyes. "How could you?" she whispered. "I thought we were friends." Suddenly unable to look at him any longer, Peggy spun on her heel and marched back into the garden.

"Peggy, wait!" she heard him call.

She marched on.

"Wait!" he begged. "Please!"

Anger and betrayal were still burning sharp in her heart, but she stopped, spinning slowly around. The pain in his bright blue eyes drove a chip through that angry wall, as did the way he held himself as though it had hurt to run after her. She would give him a chance to explain himself.

"We _are_ friends, Peggy," he said sadly. "I…You're the only friend I have."

"Funny way to treat your friend," she said coolly.

"I…" He looked around nervously, and it sank in that he'd followed her into her garden, closer to the house and other humans, where he'd never been before. He looked back at her. "I wasn't going to do that to you," he said. "I promise." He took an uncertain step closer.

"I was never supposed to be friends with you," he said in a small voice. "But I saw you, and you, you seemed nice. I became your friend because you asked me to, and because I liked you. Not because I was trying to be sneaky and get you to trust me. I made sure none of the other fairies ever knew about you. To keep myself out of trouble, partly, but also to keep you safe. I knew they would think it would be easier to kidnap you if you already knew about fairies and liked them. So I made sure they never knew about you. I was _never_ going to kidnap you," he said sadly. "Never. Please believe me."

There was such conviction in his eyes that Peggy found all the anger and hurt had already drained out of her chest. "I do," she said softly. "I'm sorry," she added, suddenly feeling guilty. "I was just…I know that you wouldn't ever do something like that. I was just surprised, and, and angry. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he said, and the relieved smile that spread across his face was so beautiful, Peggy couldn't help smiling back.

She looked around the open garden, her house visible beyond the hedge, then nodded back to the willow tree. "Would you like to get back out of the open?"

"Yes, please," he said softly, and it was only as she took his hand to lead him back that she realized how frightened he'd been coming out here. His hand was shaking, and Peggy squeezed it warmly.

"So, you were telling me what happened," she prompted when they sat back down inside the canopy of leaves.

He nodded. "I'm not sure how they found out about you, but somehow, a few weeks ago, they did. They told me since I was already friends with you, I should offer to bring you to see where we lived." He blinked up at her sadly. "That's why it's not safe for humans to be in the fairy world. The magic there works fast, and if I'd brought you, you wouldn't've ever come home. I didn't want to do that to you." He nodded at her chest, where the little tree pendant he'd given her was hanging. "I told them I would come and get you, but instead I stole that and gave it to you. It'll keep you safe."

"It will?" she asked, looking down at the little tree.

He nodded. "There's magic in it that will keep fairy magic from affecting you. It'll even burn them if they touch it."

"You touched it," she pointed out.

"Not for long," he said with a little smile, and she remembered how quickly he'd pulled it out of his pocket and dropped it into her hand.

"It burned you," she said sadly.

He nodded. "But not too bad, and it was worth it, because you're safe now." He smiled. "They can't ever get you as long as you have that."

"So they got angry when you got back without me?" she guessed.

He nodded. "I was in trouble for that, but not too much, since they figured I just didn't know how to kidnap someone. But then they said they'd just send someone else after you. So then I told them what I did, and that they'd never get you." He swallowed hard, and moisture pooled up in his eyes. "I got in a lot of trouble for that," he whispered.

Peggy felt her heart clenching in her chest, and she slid an arm over his shoulders. "What did they do to you?" she asked softly.

"They locked me up," he said quietly. He lifted up his good hand, and as his sleeve fell down, Peggy could see the marks around his wrist where it had been rubbed raw under a cuff. "They left me there for a while, and then…Then Sebille came in. She's one of the fairies who has a name," he said quietly.

"Did she hurt you?" Peggy asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded. "She's the Queen's Enforcer, and she deals with traitors." He huffed a watery laugh. "That's what I am now." Very carefully, he pulled his right hand away from where it was tucked against his chest. He loosened the bandage wrapped around his palm and tugged it down. Peggy gasped. A strange mark was burned into the skin of his hand, angry and raw and blistered. "She marked me," he whispered. "So everyone would know."

"How did you get away?" Peggy wondered.

He shook his head, smiling sadly. "They let me go. After I completed my punishment, there wasn't any need to keep me locked up anymore. But it will be a long, long time before they trust me again."

Peggy's heart ached as she looked him over. He looked so small and sad and beaten. "When you gave me the necklace, did you know they would do that to you?" He nodded, and tears sprang to Peggy's eyes. "Why would you do that for me?"

He smiled at her like the answer should have been obvious. "Because you're my friend." He smiled sadly. "Fairies can live forever, remember? That's a long time to have to live with myself if I ever let them hurt you."

"But, I suppose, if they had taken me, it isn't as though I would remember it," Peggy reasoned. It wasn't something she would have wanted to happen, but it was a point to consider.

"I would," he whispered. He reached out with his good hand and carefully picked up her hand, squeezing her fingers warmly. "This was worth it to me, Peggy. You're worth keeping safe."

One of the tears pooling in Peggy's eyes escaped and trickled down her cheek. "Thank you," she whispered. She leaned over and kissed his cheek softly. "Thank you for doing that for me."

He smiled up at her, the water in his blue eyes making them sparkle like sapphires. "You're welcome."

They just sat there for a bit, but eventually, Peggy got him to tell her what all Sebille had done to him. It was more than it looked like from the outside, and he needed looking after. Another part of his punishment was that even though he was free now, he would have to fend for himself until he was better—no other fairies were allowed to help him.

"I'll help you, then," Peggy promised. "You took care of me. So now I'm going to take care of you."

It took a lot of work, but Peggy finally convinced him to come into the house—the prospect terrified him, but there was very little she could do for him outside, and she promised that she would keep him away from any other people. He nodded and said he trusted her, and he clung tightly to her side as they snuck into the house. Right now was the perfect time to do it—her father was in town for a meeting, her mother had gone to a neighbour's for afternoon tea, and Mrs. Graham would be in the kitchen working on dinner. They made it to her room unnoticed, and she made a pile of blankets and pillows in the bottom of the wardrobe where he could lie down and hide. Then she put together a basket of cloths and ointments and got a kettle of warm water.

Carefully, she washed his cuts and bound them up, rubbed ointments into his bruises, and treated the burn on his hand before putting clean bandages over it. "There," she said, tucking a blanket around his shoulders as he folded his wings down. "That should do for now. Now we should see about getting you something to eat. They didn't feed you much while you were locked up, did they?"

"No."

"Well, you shall have plenty to eat now. What sort of things do fairies like to eat?"

He smiled. "The same sorts of things people do, I think. Fruit and bread and cheese."

"I can get that," Peggy said. "Anything else? Go on, you can ask," she said when he looked as though he were debating saying something.

"Would it…" he began hesitantly. "Do you think maybe I could have just a little bit of milk?" he asked tentatively, as though it might be too big a favor.

"Of course," she said, surprised at the simple request. "You can have all the milk you want. I'll just go and fetch it."

She went downstairs and into the kitchen, where Mrs. Graham happily put together a little basket of strawberries, bread and cheese for her, though Peggy did say it was because she wanted to have a little picnic in the garden. She tucked a jug of milk into the basket and headed outside, then looped around and hurried back up to her room.

Her fairy was waiting for her, curled up nervously in the little nest in the wardrobe she'd made him. He relaxed when she reappeared and took the food gratefully, though his eyes widened at the sight of the jug of milk. "You brought all of that for me?" he asked. "Won't you get in trouble for taking so much?"

"No," she said. "We've got loads of milk." She smiled curiously. "Is there something special about milk?" she wondered.

He shrugged one shoulder. "It's quite a treat where I'm from. It helps me sleep, and I thought with as much as everything hurts right now, maybe a little bit would help. I never thought you would have so much."

Peggy smiled. "The milkman brings lots of it fresh every morning. Have all the milk you like."

"Wow. Thank you."

Peggy had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the awed way he kept staring at the milk jug, focusing instead on helping him tear the bread and cheese into manageable chunks since he only had one working hand. He ate everything she'd brought, and she was glad she was able to help him get what he needed. She hated to think of him locked up in a little room, hurt and hungry and alone.

He saved the milk for last, and he certainly hadn't been kidding about it helping him sleep. His eyes were starting to droop before he was halfway through the glass, and by the time he'd drank it to the bottom, he was listing over sideways and Peggy had to shoot out a hand to catch his shoulder and stop him knocking his head against the side of the wardrobe. He was smiling dreamily as she helped him lie down and tucked the blanket back up around him. "Thanks, Peggy," he whispered, and he was out.

She smiled, reaching out a hand to brush his hair back out of his face. She stroked her fingers gently through the soft blond locks, then tucked them back behind the point of his ear. "Sleep well, my little fairy," she said softly. "You're safe here."

He was still sleeping soundly when she came up from dinner for bed, so she turned off the lights and crawled into bed. When she woke up the next morning, he was sitting in her windowsill wrapped up in one of the blankets, watching the sun rise over the estate. He was still shaky and a little weak, and did not object to being coaxed back into his little nest to rest while she went and had breakfast, promising to bring some up for him.

Over the next few days, he started getting better. Peggy did worry about him while she was away at school in the mornings, but no one had any reason to go in her wardrobe, and he was always fine when she came back, occasionally even still asleep after the glass of milk she would bring him for breakfast. In the afternoons, she would treat the burn on his hand, then sit there and read to him. It was through that that she learned he didn't know how to read, and so she offered to teach him once he was feeling better.

After a week, he was getting out of the wardrobe and moving around without any pain. "Are you sure you're ready to go back?" Peggy asked. "After what they did to you…"

"They won't hurt me anymore," he said. "I did my time. They may not like me much for a while, but I can handle that. And I can still come and see you."

"You won't get in trouble again?" she asked. She didn't want to lose him, but she didn't want him to suffer any more on her behalf.

He shook his head. "Coming and seeing you wasn't what got me hurt. And unless I try to protect you even more, it isn't worth punishing me for. I'll make sure to be careful." He smiled. "Besides, I can't keep living in your closet forever."

"I'd let you if it would keep you safe," she said.

His smile softened. "I know. But I'll be alright."

"Stay for one more night?" she coaxed. "One more glass of milk?"

He grinned. "Well, if you're gonna twist my arm…"

He left the next morning, and Peggy rushed out to see him that afternoon after school and again on each of the following days, and it would seem he was right—he may be living as a social outcast among the fairies, but none of them seemed to feel any need to hurt him any further.

She began their reading lessons, and he was a quick study. He mastered the alphabet in a matter of days, and it wasn't long before she was bringing out the books she was reading in school and he was reading them aloud to her, occasionally stumbling over a difficult word.

"Are you sure you've never had reading lessons?" she asked him one day. "Maybe a long time ago? You're an awfully quick study."

She said it teasingly, but he didn't smile back.

"Sorry," she said. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "I was just thinking."

He had been doing that more since his stay at her house. "About what?" she wondered.

"I'm not sure," he sighed. "Ever since I stayed at your house, I've felt…Something's not right."

"What do you mean?"

"Here," he said, tapping a finger to the side of his head. "I keep thinking these things that…I just don't feel like my head's on straight anymore."

"I'm sorry," she said, not sure what she was apologizing for, but it had been her house that had thrown things off-kilter.

"No, don't be," he said. "I just…" He sighed again, then looked over at her. "I think…You know how I told you about how fairies kidnap people?"

She nodded.

He drew in a deep breath. "I think maybe that's what happened to me."

Peggy took a moment to process that. "You mean you think that's how you…But I thought you said you were born at the last hatching?"

"Well, I thought I was, but that's just because they told me that. I never had any reason not to believe them, but then I was in your house…I've never been in a house before, but I keep getting these pictures in my mind…Like that first morning, when I was looking out your window? I was just watching the sunrise, but something in my mind kept thinking of all these little changes, like a fence, and a dog, and a baby crying…Like I should have been looking out a different window in a different house. I would see your bedroom, and get this image of a room with a bed and toys and books and things, but different from yours. Little things like that. And it hasn't stopped since I've left your house. I keep seeing things that I shouldn't know, and…Peggy, I think I used to be a human."

Peggy sat there in silence for a long moment, absorbing all of that. "Right," she said at last. "So how do we fix it?"

"What?"

"To make you human again. How do we do it?"

He blinked, surprised, as if he hadn't been thinking that at all. "I…I don't think we can."

"Of course we can."

He smiled fondly. "Peggy, you don't even know how fairy magic works."

"That doesn't mean we can't try."

"We can look, I guess, but I've never heard of this kind of magic being undone."

"There's a first time for everything," she declared.

Peggy wasn't sure what she could do from her end, but she was going to look more deeply into her books and see if she could find more stories about fairies. Maybe old country legends and things. He was going to look around back in his realm, and see if he could find any stories of things like this happening before.

It was nearly a week before she saw him again, and she was worried, but kept telling herself that maybe they were just missing each other and going out on different days, or that there were too many fairies around where he was and it wasn't safe to sneak away. And that seemed to be what happened, as he was unharmed when she finally did see him.

"Did you find anything?" she asked. Her search had been maddeningly unfruitful, but maybe if he found even a little clue, it would help point her in the right direction.

"Anything for what?" he asked.

"For what we talked about last time," she reminded him. "Magic to turn fairies who used to be humans back into humans again," she added when he seemed to need a clue.

"Oh," he said. "Was I supposed to be looking for that?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why?" she repeated. "To help you!" He looked utterly confused now, and she stepped forward and looked him carefully in the eye. "Did they do something to you again?" she asked.

"What? No, they didn't. I told you they didn't have any reason to hurt me again."

"Then why don't you remember this?"

"Remember what?"

"You told me you thought you used to be human," she said.

"I did?"

She nodded. "Remember? You said while you were staying at my house, it kept reminding you of another house. Looking out over the yard, and seeing a dog and a fence and hearing a baby cry?" She wished he'd given her something more concrete to go on.

He looked confused a moment longer, then a furrow of concentration appeared across his brow. "I do remember that," he said, half to himself. "Why did I…"

He drifted off into his own head for a moment, and Peggy gave him a minute to collect his thoughts. "Do you remember now?" she asked at last, when she couldn't take the silence any longer.

He nodded. "I do." He looked back at her. "I just…forgot."

"How?"

He chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. "If I really was a human before…The fairy magic makes you forget. Something in your house must have woken up a memory or something, and that was the longest I've ever been away from the fairy world, so it stayed. Then I kept seeing you and it kept it going, but then being home for a week…The magic must have taken back over and I lost it."

"Well, then, you can't go back there," she declared.

He smiled. "Peggy, I can't stay away. They'd come looking for me."

"So, what do we do?"

"I still don't think there's a way to undo it," he said. "But I think if I'm careful to come and see you more often, I won't lose these memories. I can keep them that way."

Peggy felt bad for asking the next question, but she felt like she had to. "If there's no way to undo it, do you _want_ to keep them?" Wouldn't it just hurt, remembering what he couldn't have?

"I do," he said. "Even if it hurts to know I lost something, it's still part of me. I want to keep that."

"Alright," she said. She smiled at him. "But I'm going to keep looking for a way to fix it."

He smiled back at that.

They made sure to meet more often after that. He seemed able to hold on to the memory that he'd realized he was once a human, but memories of those times as a human were dim, if they could be found at all. A smell here, an image there, a noise there… Nothing to identify who he used to be, or even when he'd come from. They might have stolen him away centuries ago. Peggy hadn't had much luck in finding anything to help him, nothing but an old poem that told a story of a woman rescued from the Fairy King. It was so old and embellished that there was nothing useful in it—certainly not how it happened—but it did end with the woman starting over, having forgotten her old life. He seemed to take that to mean that his old memories were gone for good, and she had to agree that that seemed the most likely interpretation. He seemed far less troubled by that than she was.

"It's hard to be upset over what you don't remember losing," he'd pointed out. "And I'm okay," he assured her. "I really am. Being a fairy, it's not so bad. Most of the time," he corrected with a quick glance down at the burn scar on his hand.

They'd stopped talking about it so much when they spent time together—he wasn't remembering anything more, and there didn't seem to be anything they could do about it. Peggy still kept her eye out for new books and stories about fairies, though.

As the fall rolled around, an unexpected and unwanted fork appeared in Peggy's path—she was being sent away to school. Apparently, now that she was twelve, she required proper education and more finishing than a country school could provide. Her parents, knowing she would fight this decision, had chosen not to inform her of it until the night before she left.

She put up a royal fuss, but this was a battle she could not win. She went to bed in a huff of furious tears, then, as soon as the house was asleep, she snuck out and ran to the garden. She couldn't stay, but she could at least tell him she was going, and assure him she would be back.

"Fairy?" she called hopefully. She sort of hated calling him that now, like she was rubbing in that he wasn't a human anymore, but he assured her he didn't mind.

"Are you here?" she called. "I need to talk to you. It's important." She'd never come out to meet him at night before, and though she waited for a long time, it seemed she wasn't going to meet him tonight either. It was with a very heavy heart that she climbed into the car with her father the next morning and drove away.

It was two months before she got to come home. The first few weeks were torture, worrying about her fairy, imagining him waiting there by the tree and wondering where she'd gone. Would he think something had happened to her? Would he think she'd gotten angry with him and didn't want to see him anymore? It was made all the worse by the kindly teachers and older students who assured her that everyone got homesick and tried to make her feel better.

She eventually made some friends, and she spent a lot of time waffling back and forth between enjoying herself with her new friends and feeling guilty for doing so when her oldest friend was missing her back at home. When term was finally over, she fairly ran out to the garden from the car.

"Fairy?" she called. "It's me! I'm back!" She spun around inside the willow's canopy eagerly, trying to spot those blue eyes peering out between the leaves.

"Peggy?" came a surprised voice from behind her. She turned around and there he was. "Mmf!" he grunted as she flung herself at him and hugged him. "You're back!" he exclaimed when she let him go.

"I am," she agreed. "I'm so sorry! I tried to tell you, but I didn't know until it was too late. I didn't mean to leave you here all alone." The relief in his eyes as he stared at her just about broke her heart, and she wondered how worried he'd been.

"No, no, it's alright," he assured her. "I'm just glad you're okay. What happened?"

She told him everything about being sent away to school and how she'd tried to come and find him to let him know. As she'd feared, he'd forgotten everything about remembering he used to be human. She spent some time reminding him of what they'd discovered. She thought it odd that that seemed to be the only part of his memory that was affected—he remembered everything else they did together and talked about. That was rather clever on the part of the fairy magic, she supposed. If he could only remember things about being human when he was around her, and fairies weren't supposed to spend so much time with humans, it was a good way to keep the people they'd kidnapped from ever working things out.

Over the next few days, she tried with renewed vigor to get him to remember more about his old life, but then he asked her to stop. Being around her, his memories of working things out had returned fairly quickly, but that meant that he remembered that he'd never been able to come up with any new memories. He remained convinced that there was no undoing this, and while he insisted that he was glad that he knew and was grateful she reminded him, he hated seeing her beat herself up over it. He wanted to enjoy the time they had together, not keep running in fruitless circles. Peggy agreed, though she resolved to keep investigating on her own.

Though he missed her while she was away, now that he knew she was alright, he was fascinated to hear stories from her time at boarding school. He was always interested in school stories anyway, since fairies didn't go to school, but he found this new element of it even more compelling. He wanted descriptions of every little detail she could give him of the dormitory and the dining hall, and for some reason he found the game of tennis very funny and asked to hear about it again and again.

They would meet under the willow tree and sit in the branches and talk or read together, or walk together in the snow through the forest. He was getting better at his magic, and could make more intricate patterns in the ice now, or make little flurries of snowflakes dance in swirls around them. Peggy would sometimes bring a little basket with snacks, and she discovered that he absolutely adored Christmas cookies. She always made sure to bring him some, and she brought hot chocolate in a thermos as well, though she learned to start saving it for the end of the day, as the milk in it made him sleepy.

"Is something wrong?" he asked her one day after Christmas. They were sitting along the rocks above the frozen stream. He was drawing crystal patterns in the ice, and she realized she'd been very quiet.

"I have to go back to school next week," she said. "A new term is starting."

"Oh," he said. "Well," he said with a little smile. "At least now I know where you'll be. I won't be so worried this time. And you'll come back, right?"

"Right," she assured him. She smiled sadly. "I do miss you when I'm away. You're the best friend I've got."

"I'll always be here," he assured her. "Every time you come back."

On her last day at home, she went to say goodbye under the willow tree. "I'll be back in March," she promised. "Maybe even before that, if I can get a weekend away."

"Just call me, and I'll hear you," he said.

She hugged him tightly, but he held on to her hand as she moved away.

"Peggy?"

"Yes?"

"I remembered something, a couple of weeks ago. Something from before." Faint color rose in his cheeks. "I haven't brought it up before now because, well, I don't know what it means. I've been trying to figure it out, but I can't."

"Perhaps I can help," she said. "What did you remember?"

"It was just a word," he said, looking a little embarrassed that it was something so small. "But it felt like it should mean something."

"What word was it?" she prompted when he didn't go on.

"Steve," he said.

Peggy gaped at him.

"What?" he asked. "Do you know what it means? Is it something wrong?"

"No!" Peggy said, getting her throat working again. "No, it's not wrong, it's wonderful."

"Really?" he asked. "What is it?"

She smiled. "Steve isn't a word," she told him. "It's a name."

"A name?" he asked. His eyes slowly grew wide. "Do you…Do you think it was my name?"

Peggy nodded. "It must be. Why would you remember someone else's name?"

He considered this, then a slow smile spread across his lips. "Steve," he said softly, like he was testing it out. He nodded. "Steve," he said again. He looked back up at her. "I'm going to keep it," he said with a smile. He huffed a laugh as though he couldn't believe what he was saying. "I have a name."

"It's a lovely name," Peggy told him. "And I'm glad that I finally know what it is. Is it alright if I call you that from now on?" It was much better than 'Fairy'.

He smiled. "I'd like that." His smile fell away. "I…I'm probably going to forget it after you go, though," he said ruefully. "The fairies didn't give it to me, so after you're gone for a while…"

Peggy smiled encouragingly and moved forward and hugged him again. "I'll remember it," she promised him. "And if you forget it, I'll tell it to you."

His smile returned, and he hugged her back. "Thank you," he said.

Peggy returned to school for the spring term, and it was easier this time, knowing that her fairy—Steve. He had a proper name at last, and it was Steve.—wasn't going to be worried about her. She still missed him awfully, and she hated to think of him losing his name again while she was gone, but she consoled herself with the fact that she could help him remember when she got back, and she busied herself with school and friends and thought of all the stories she could tell him when she got home.

She also remembered her promise to herself that she wasn't going to stop looking for a way to fix him. The library at school had far more books than she'd been able to find at home, and she began the lengthy journey of working her way through the mythology section. There were stories of fairies from the British Isles and the Continent, Russia, Asia, Africa and America. It was a lot to work through, but she was undaunted. And even though it was part of a mission to help her friend, the stories were terribly interesting.

They soon fell into a pattern, her and Steve. Every time she returned from school, she would remind him of his name and anything else he'd forgotten. They would spend most of the days of her holiday together, reading and talking and walking together and laughing as they always did. Steve would do his best to offer advice on the troubles she had with friends and schoolwork, and she tried to help him find ways to clear his name with the other fairies. (She still felt bad about all he had suffered for her, but he kept assuring her that he was alright, and getting by, even starting to be forgiven again.) She would return to school, to her other friends and her classes and books on fairy lore in the library, and he would return to the fairy realm and they would pick up where they left off when she came back.

When she was fifteen, the girls in her year got to start having social gatherings with the boys' school across the way. The boys were charming and handsome, and Peggy had to admit that she did enjoy the dances and picnics and tennis matches. It was fun, and there was something a bit thrilling about the quick kisses and touches of hands and flirtatious glances. But fun was all it was, just fun and games. Some of her dorm mates started pairing off with boys they fancied (and the pairs changed rather frequently) and teasing her about not doing the same. But there just wasn't…It was fun, but there weren't any of them who seemed able to hold her interest for very long.

She did find she was a bit embarrassed to tell Steve about all of it, though she wasn't sure why. Surely fairies held dances and things.

"Sure, we do," Steve said. "It's coming up on the summer song season—that's my favorite. The days get long and the stars shine so bright when they come out so late, and we dance under the moon and sing, and there's music and food, and stories…" He sighed happily, his wings lazily fanning open and closed in that way they did when he was content. "It's great. I wish you could come."

"I wish I could too," she said. "It sounds like a lovely time. But I suppose it's still not a good idea?"

"No," he agreed, deflating a bit. He smiled again. "But I'll tell you all about it afterwards."

"I'd like that," she replied.

It was only when she went home that night that she realized Steve had answered the question she'd asked, but not the one she'd meant. When she'd asked about dances, she meant, well, the other sorts of things that went on for people at events like that. Did Steve dance with fairy girls, whispering in their ears, and holding hands in the moonlight, and admiring the shine of the stars reflecting in their wings? She suddenly very much wanted to know, but felt a bit ashamed to ask. It was hardly fair to ask him something so personal when she was reluctant to share that about herself. And she was a bit afraid the answer might not be the one she wanted.

She was coming up on her O-Levels now, and working very hard at school. Most of her classmates intended to finish with school after that, moving on into society and traveling and things. Peggy meant to go on with her studies. If she went home, her mother would just want her to marry some local county squire or something and become a proper country lady. Beyond that, she actually quite enjoyed her studies. She meant to go on to her A-Levels, and maybe even university after that. All the research she'd done over the years on fairies had given her a great interest in cultures around the world. The different things people valued and the things that seemed to stay the same across cultures fascinated her. She rather fancied a career in anthropology, or maybe even archaeology, learning more about the people of the past who'd come up with the stories she'd read.

She did hesitate, though, wondering what might become of Steve if she went galivanting off all over the world. On the one hand, it felt incredibly foolish to confine herself to a small country life for the sake of childhood memories. But Steve wasn't just a memory, or an imaginary friend. He was a real person. (Or, a real fairy. But he was real, that was the point.) He'd said he would always be there when she came back, but after she was grown up, how often would she be back?

"Can I ask you something, Steve?" she asked one spring evening. She was dragging her feet about going to get ready for what was probably going to be a dreadfully dull dinner party that she should have started dressing for half an hour ago. There was a young lawyer named Fred her mother was keen to introduce her to.

"Sure," he said. "Is something bothering you?"

His left wing was twitching in that inquisitive way it did sometimes, and she smiled. He always seemed to know what she was thinking. "Sort of," she said. "The trouble is, it's not a very…concrete problem," she sighed. "I can't quite nail it down, and so I'm not sure what to do about it."

"Maybe I can help," he offered.

"Well, you know how at the end of next term, I'm graduating?"

He nodded.

"Well, and I'm…I'm meant to do something with myself then."

"Like what?"

"Like marrying someone my mother approves of, or going off to university, or something like that. One of my professors was really impressed with the last essay I wrote on cross-cultural mythological commonalities, and he actually offered me a spot as an apprentice on his next archaeological expedition in the fall."

"That sounds exciting," Steve said. "I think you should do that."

She blinked, surprised that he had answered so quickly. "You do?"

"Sure. I know how much you like to learn new things, and travelling off to some new exciting place to do it sounds like a great adventure." He tilted his head a bit to study her, then he smiled, like he knew what she was thinking. "You can't stay here forever. I always figured you'd grow up and go off somewhere someday."

"And you're alright with that?"

"Well, I mean, I'll miss you, but I want you to be happy. I'll be happy if you are, and I can hear about all your great adventures when you come back." He held up a hand, knowing what she was going to say. "I know it will be a lot less often. But it's not like you'll never come home."

That was terribly unselfish of him. Was it odd that it made her want to leave even less?

"Wouldn't it be something if you could come with me?" she said.

"That would be amazing," he agreed. "I'd love to see more of your world beyond this forest. But you know there's only a few places in the human world I can go."

"I know," she sighed. They'd talked before about how vast the fairy world was, and how he could go anywhere there, but how fairies were limited by spells and ancient boundary lines of where in the human world they could go. That was why he'd never come to see her at school.

He reached over and took one of her hands in both of his. "Peggy," he said. "Don't make your choice based on me." He smiled, and something in his eyes made Peggy's breath catch in her throat. "No matter what you choose, I am always going to be your fairy," he told her warmly. "You do what's best for you, and I'll be alright."

He squeezed her hands and let go, still smiling. "You should go to dinner before your mother comes looking for you."

She huffed a quick laugh and nodded. "Will you…" She slid down from the tree branch she was sitting on. "Can I come back and talk to you tonight? I think I'm going to need to."

"Okay," he nodded. "I'll see you in a little while."

He was waiting when she snuck out of the house later that night, and she wondered briefly if he'd left at all.

"How's the new boyfriend?" he teased.

"Shut up," she said, smacking him in the shoulder. She sighed and sat down, her back against the tree trunk. "Fred is polite, well-mannered, well-read, but a bit dull. Not particularly keen on archaeological dig sites in Persia, but few men are. He's perfectly lovely, he's just not…"

"Not what you're after, huh?" Steve finished for her. He held out a bowl of blackberries he'd gotten from somewhere, and she popped one in her mouth.

"No," she agreed. Actually, she'd almost said, 'he's just not _you_ '. There had been several men, actually, who'd fallen shy of that mark. She'd never said it aloud—what was the point? They were from two different worlds, the two of them. There was no way to make it work. She sighed again. "Mother's going to be pushing him on me," she went on. "He's rich, well-connected, good family. Just the sort of match she's after for me."

"Good thing you're going to Persia, then," Steve said with a smile. He laughed when she shot him a curious eyebrow. "Okay, I know you haven't actually decided that yet, but that's what you're going to do, isn't it?"

It was. How did he know her so well?

"What do fairies do when they grow up?" she asked, changing the subject abruptly. She looked him up and down. He'd kept up enough to remain near to her height, though he was still short enough to have to look up into her eyes, still thin and delicate-looking with that graceful elfin bone structure, but he was undeniably growing up. "You're an adult fairy now, aren't you?"

He chuckled. "Just about, yeah. Officially, not until the beginning of summer." He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Just like you'll be officially an adult when you graduate."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"I don't really know," he said. "They haven't told me."

"You don't get to choose?"

"No," he shook his head. "We sort of…get assigned roles based on what we're good at."

"What do you think you'll do?"

His smile fell away. "To be honest, I…I think there's going to be a war. If there is, I'll be a soldier. Won't matter what I'm good at."

"Oh," she said. "A war with who?"

"There are some trolls in the Shadow Realm that…" He shook his head and sighed again. "There will probably be a war."

"Were you going to tell me you were going to be a soldier?" She wasn't angry, just curious.

He nodded. "I was going to wait until it was for sure. I didn't want you to worry otherwise."

"Are you frightened?"

He nodded again. "The trolls are…There are stories of, of bloodbaths and massacres. It won't be pretty. Not all the fairies who go are going to come back."

"Is there any way for you to get out of it?" she wondered. She didn't know what the reasons or the stakes were, so she didn't know if dodging would be considered cowardice, but she did know she didn't want him to go off and be killed by a troll.

He shook his head. "All the fairies will have to fight."

"So you wouldn't have to if you were human?"

He looked over at her sadly. "Peggy…We both know that's never going to happen."

"But if it could?"

"It can't."

"If it could?" she pressed, sitting up a little straighter. "If it could, would you want it?"

He answered faster than she thought he would. "Yes." He smiled sadly. "But not because it would get me out of the war. I don't want to go to war, but I'll do it if I have to. But if I could be human, I could stay with you. And I would want that."

Peggy's breath caught in her throat again. "You're sure?"

"Of course."

"You'd lose everything," she pointed out. "Your magic, and your wings, and your immortality."

He huffed a small laugh. "I could lose that fighting trolls. But, yeah, if I could be a human with you, then I would do it."

She smiled warmly and reached up to put a hand to the side of his face. "Then I'll do it," she said. "If you're sure you want it, I'll find a way."

"Peggy," he began.

"I will," she said firmly. "You saved me from the fairies, now it's my turn to do the same. Trust me."

He looked at her for a long moment, then smiled, and he was the only person who smiled at her like that, and she could look at it forever. "Okay," he said softly.

When Peggy got back to school, she dove into her research. She'd been reading up on the subject for years, of course, but she was coming at it now with an eye of experience. She was able to understand more complicated concepts than when she was younger, able to pick up contexts and similarities she'd missed the first time around now that she'd studied more, and had access to a wider range of resources—as a final-year student, she could interview university professors, have long discussions with her Literature teacher, and was permitted to read books thought too valuable or complicated for the younger students.

Different options started to present themselves to her. One of the things she considered was a binding spell—a fairy could be summoned, trapped and bound to a human for the duration of the human's life. The goal was to make the fairy a servant, which Peggy had no intention of doing to Steve, but binding him to her would pull him away from the fairy realm and keep him safe from the war. She discarded the idea, however. No matter how good her intentions, Steve would be a prisoner, and she was trying to set him free, not enchant him even further.

She found a couple of mentions of people being freed from fairies' clutches in some old poetry that took a good deal of rereading and interpretation of Scots dialect to work out. One of them, she discarded because it ended with the death of the person being freed—their soul was free, but not their body, and she didn't want to kill Steve. That's what she was trying to avoid.

There was one she kept coming back to, though. It worked in the story, but she couldn't find any way to accomplish it without going into the fairy realm to do it. And no matter how much Steve might want to be a human, she knew he would never agree to take her there. So she would just have to figure out a way to get there on her own.

Now that she had a plan, she spent some time gathering the supplies she would need. Not knowing how fine she would be cutting it to Steve's war if she waited until her graduation, which was still three weeks away, she decided she'd best do it now. Her friend, Angie, was quite good with a forged signature, and so Peggy told her she was sneaking off for the weekend to meet a boy in London. Angie was delighted that Peggy was finally engaging in some scandalous behaviour, and gleefully wrote a letter purporting to be from her mother, intending to take her away for the weekend to visit her ailing grandmother. Her cover in place, Peggy then packed a rucksack, rang herself a taxi, and departed.

She had the taxi drop her in town, picked up the last of her supplies, then she changed into something more suitable for the country and hiked across the fields to her garden. She stood under the willow tree waiting, running through all her preparations in her mind and making sure she had everything ready. She did wonder if Steve might appear while she waited there, but he didn't. He wasn't expecting her home for a few more weeks, anyway. She patted her chest once, resting a hand on the protective necklace he'd given her, then drew in a deep breath and stepped into the woods.

Holding clear in her mind the arrangement of tree, toadstools and flowers she was looking for, she began her search. She knew right away that there weren't any such circles anywhere that she and Steve had walked, and now that she knew they worked as a gateway to the fairy world, she wondered if he'd been steering her away from them. Therefore, she headed immediately for unfamiliar parts of the forest.

It didn't take her long to find it—an oak tree with a little ring of red toadstools in front of it, with feverfew growing in a circle around the toadstools. She stepped inside, took a deep breath, and chanted the lines she'd memorized from the poem. A shiver passed through her, and when she opened her eyes, she was in a clearing in an evergreen wood.

"Lost is she now?" came a little voice from her feet. She looked down to see a little golden lizard, and though it seemed harmless enough, she recognized it from her reading as a common shape of a trickster spirit, familiars of the fairies. It seemed as though her plan was working so far.

"No, not lost," she said. "I've come looking for a favor."

"Mm," the lizard said, nodding its little head. Trickster spirits enjoyed working with fairies to trick humans, but had no true loyalty to them and could be easily bought. "Favors cost, they do."

"Will this do?" Peggy asked, crouching down on one knee and pulling a jar from her pack. "Fresh honey."

"Oh," the lizard breathed, its eyes widening comically. Trickster spirits had a weakness for sweet things.

"Quite a lot of it, too," she said. The lizard moved forward and she pulled the jar back out of reach. "Do we have a deal?"

"Indeed," the lizard nodded. "What does Miss request?"

"I would like you to take me to where the fairies live by the elm grove," she said. Steve had told her once that that was where he lived. "Without letting them know I'm here."

"Right away," the lizard said with a little bow. She followed it through the clearing and into the evergreens, and they walked for a bit before the trees broke. It led her across a field and up to the top of a hill, then pointed down. "There it is, Miss," it said.

"Thank you," she said. "Here's your honey."

It took the jar gleefully and scampered back toward the bushes, but stopped before it disappeared. "Miss should be careful," it said. Evidently, it was inclined to be helpful after her generous gift. "Fairies likes pretty young girls, they do. If Miss wishes to go home again, Miss mustn't eat anything they offers her."

Steve had never said anything about that—and if it was part of the magic keeping him here, it would make sense he didn't know it—but she'd seen a line or two in some Welsh poems about the dangers of fairy food. It was good to have a more concrete warning. "Thank you," she said. The lizard nodded and disappeared.

The sun was setting, so she waited in the bushes until it was dark, then slunk down the hill in the direction of the elm grove. Closer to, she could hear voices, and music beginning to play. Fires were lighting up as night fell. She took a few moments to transfer some things from her rucksack into the pouches on her belt for easier access, then moved closer.

Between the fires and the brightness of the moon and stars—brighter than Peggy was used to seeing at home—the night was well lit, though huts and trees cast sharp shadows she could hide in. She found a spot where two trees grew close together and sat down between them, settling into the shadows. She watched for a while, noting where fairies came and went. There were an awful lot dressed like soldiers about, and Peggy wondered how near the war was.

The soldiers were moving to one side of the village, and after a while, Peggy decided to follow them. They seemed to be gearing up for some sort of training exercise, and if Steve was soon to be a soldier, perhaps that was where he'd be. She stayed hidden in the bushes, studying the faces of the gathering soldiers, and there he was.

She knew that fairies were smaller in stature than humans, but Steve being the only one she knew, she still tended to think of him as being unusually small. Among the rest of his kind though, she realized he really wasn't—they were all small and thin, with delicate bones and graceful hands, but massed together in an army like this, they looked no less lethal for it.

Steve was standing off to one side, wearing his usual clothes, but contemplating some armor he was evidently meant to be putting on. Peggy picked up a pebble and tossed it in his direction. He looked up in surprise when it pinged off the helmet in his hands. His eyes scanned the direction it had come from, and Peggy poked her head up a little higher out of the bushes. His eyes nearly bugged right out of their sockets when he saw her, and it would have been funny if he hadn't looked so horrified.

Looking around uneasily, he made his way over to where she was hiding, clearly much slower than he would have liked to in an attempt not to draw any attention. She grabbed his arm and yanked him back into the cover of the trees.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" he hissed.

"I came to find you," she said.

"You promised me you would never try to come here," he said angrily.

"I did," she said. "But I also promised that I was going to save you." He looked confused, as she had known he would, and she took one of his hands in hers. "Remember," she prompted. She wondered worriedly if he could remember at all here, or if he had to be in her world, but there was nothing for it now. She squeezed his hand. "Your name is Steve. Do you remember that?"

For a long moment, he looked torn between being angry and confused, but then she saw the spark catch in his eyes. "Yes," he said slowly. "I remember."

"And remember how you said that if I could find a way to do it, that you wanted to be human again?"

He took longer to think over that one, but then he nodded.

"I found out how," she said. "That's why I'm here."

"You couldn't have waited for me by the tree?"

She shook her head. "This world is where you became a fairy, so this world is where I have to change you back." She smiled warmly. "I've come to bring you home, Steve."

The last of the anger and confusion fell away from his face. "Really?" he asked softly, sounding, in that moment, very much like the child he must have been when they took him away.

"Really," she said. She tugged on his hands. "Come on."

He followed her deeper into the trees, looking around anxiously, his wings fluttering with nervous tension, but asking no questions. If she could get him away somewhere safer before stopping to change him back…

"Stop!" came a voice from behind them.

Peggy spun around to see seven of the fairy soldiers. Steve jumped in front of her to shield her. "You're not going to touch her," he warned them.

Touched by his bravery, but determined to do this properly, she stepped out from behind him to stand beside him. "They won't," she told him quietly. "I still have the necklace you gave me." She turned her attention to the soldiers, pulling out an iron fire poker that had been strapped to her rucksack and brandishing it like a sword. "Don't come any closer," she warned. She felt a bit silly threatening them with a poker, but it was iron, which fairies hated, and she hadn't known where to find a sword.

They stopped. "How did you come here, human?" one of them asked.

"That's Sebille," Steve leaned in and whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder. "The Queen's Enforcer."

Peggy growled. She was the one who'd hurt Steve seven years ago.

Sebille took a step forward. "Such a brave little girl," she said. "Coming into our world." She looked over at Steve. "Come to fetch the traitor?"

"I've come to take him home," Peggy said. "He doesn't belong here."

Sebille smiled wickedly. "He does now. And he will forever. He's going to have to be punished, of course, for continuing to associate with you, but he's always going to belong to us."

Steve swallowed nervously, and Peggy shifted a bit so she was in front of him. "You're not going to touch him," she said.

"I think I am," Sebille laughed. "I'm going to take him. Then I'm going to take you. Then I'm going to make him watch while we turn you."

She took another step forward, and Peggy lifted the poker up higher. "Stop," she warned her. "This is iron."

"Well, I should hope so," Sebille said. "You couldn't have been so foolish as to come without that. But there's only one of you, and there's seven of us. And," she added with an evil grin. "I can do this." She snapped her eyes over to Steve and held out a hand. "Come here, Traitor," she ordered, in a voice that shook the air and Peggy knew had magic in it.

Steve reached out the hand with the burn scar on it and took a few faltering steps forward.

"Steve, no!" Peggy hissed. "Stop!"

"I'm trying," he said shakily. "I…I can't."

Peggy looped an arm around his chest and yanked him back, thankful that he was small enough for her to do that. She shoved him back against a tree and backed against him, pinning him there. "Stop that now," Peggy warned the Queen's Enforcer.

"No," Sebille said, stepping forward again, her soldiers moving behind her.

"Alright," Peggy said, reaching down into one of the pouches on her belt. "Steve, close your eyes," she said quietly.

"What?" he asked, still struggling against his will to get out from behind her.

"Do it!" she snapped.

He did and she turned her eyes back to Sebille. "Try this, then," Peggy said, flinging out her hand and releasing the salt she'd scooped out of her pouch. The crystals sparkled in the moonlight before scattering across the forest floor.

Sebille and the soldiers stopped in their tracks, and if looks could kill, the icy glare the Enforcer was shooting at Peggy would have dropped her stone dead. "Oh, you're going to pay for that," she hissed.

"I don't think I will," Peggy said sweetly. "Because we'll be long gone by the time you're done. Better start counting." She stepped forward, releasing Steve, who was no longer trying to get away. "Keep your eyes closed, Steve," she warned, knowing that if he saw the salt, he would be compelled to stay and count the grains, just like the others. She unhooked the pouch from her belt, stepped over until she was right in front of Sebille, then upended it, dumping the rest of the salt to the ground. "Oops."

"I'm going to kill you," Sebille hissed, even as she knelt down to start counting.

"No you won't," Peggy said calmly. She pulled her necklace out from underneath her shirt. "You'll never touch me. And you're never going to touch him again." She knelt down to look Sebille in the eye, then snatched up her hand from where she had begun to count, slapped the poker into her palm, and clamped her own fingers closed around the fairy's, trapping the metal in her hand where it began to sizzle and burn almost at once. "But I think the scar I leave you with should match the one you gave him, don't you?" she hissed. She held on for a few seconds more, then stood, yanked the poker away and spun on her heel, not looking back.

"Come on, Steve," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder and steering him away. "Let's go." When they were far enough away, she squeezed his shoulder warmly. "You can open your eyes now," she said.

He did, blinking at her in awe. "You made them count salt?" he asked, smiling in amazement. "How did you know to do that?"

She smiled back. "I told you I was going to get you out of here. I did my homework."

He laughed. "Wow."

"Let's keep going," she said. "We should get a bit farther away." They were neither literally nor figuratively out of the woods yet.

They hurried out of the elm grove and across the open country, back in the direction of the evergreens where Peggy had arrived. Steve kept looking behind them worriedly.

"Is everything alright?" Peggy asked.

"Sebille is a fast counter," he said. "I just keep expecting to hear them behind us."

"I've got more salt if we need it," Peggy said. He looked somewhat reassured by that.

"Alright," Peggy said, stopping just inside the evergreens. It was shadowed enough to give them some cover, but there was still enough moonlight for her to see what she was doing. "Are you ready for this?"

Steve nodded, still breathing hard after running. His wings were still fluttering anxiously.

"This is totally and completely going to upend your entire life," she reminded him.

He chuckled. "I think you've already done that."

She smiled at that, then knelt down to pull the rest of her gear out of her rucksack. "Now," she said a bit uncertainly. "I'm afraid I can't tell you what to expect. What I mean is, all the things I read were written from a human's point of view. I don't know if this is going to hurt or not."

He nodded. "Okay. What do I need to do?"

"To start with, just stand there," she said. "And when things start to get a bit mad, just hang on to me."

"Okay."

She laid everything out in front of her, checking and re-checking that it was all there.

"I think they're coming," Steve said quietly.

Peggy stilled. "I don't hear anything."

Steve gave her a small smile and tapped a finger to one of his pointed ears. "These hear better than yours do. They'll be here in a few minutes."

She nodded, had Steve turn his back to her, and scattered more salt across the forest floor. Then she picked up her things and moved around in front of him. "Alright," she said. "Here we go."

She unfurled the long green cloak she'd brought and flung it over his shoulders. She wasn't sure what the significance of it was to the spell, but every account she'd read included a hand-woven green cloak, so she'd made sure to bring one. He tucked his wings in so she could settle it more securely over his shoulders.

Next came the ashes of a cherry tree, symbolizing rebirth, which she sprinkled liberally in a circle around where the two of them were standing.

Then she pulled out a small but very heavy iron crucifix on a thin iron chain, blessed by a priest that very morning, and put it around her own neck. She adjusted it so it hung where it wouldn't touch Steve's skin when she touched him, then stepped forward until she was mere inches away from him.

She drew in a deep breath, preparing for the incantation. She'd had to write it herself—they had varied from story to story, depending on the situation, it seemed, and she had read and reread until her eyes crossed to make sure she understood what the common themes in each were and what it was that really needed to be said.

"The dark powers that stole this human are commanded to release him," she began. "He who was stolen is returned. He who was lost is found. He who was enchanted shall be free once more, for he. Is. Claimed. I claim him. I claim him as the captive set free. I claim him as a human returned to his own." She swallowed hard and looked deep into his eyes. "I claim him as the one I love," she said, a bit softer, but no less resolute.

Steve's eyes widened in awe, and she swallowed hard and steadied her breath and carried on. "I love you, Steve," she said. Though it seemed like a piece of a childish fairy tale, everything she had read showed the bond of true love to be the surest way to break a fairy's curse. And she did love him. She had for a long time.

"I love you," she said again. She could hear the distant shouting now of Sebille and her soldiers that Steve had heard, and she smiled, fire in her eyes, because they were going to be too late to stop her. She lifted the gold pin shaped like a phoenix and jabbed it through the lapel of the green cloak, fastening it to the clip on the other side and securing the cloak around him. "And you're coming back with me." Then she grabbed the pin and yanked him forward and kissed him.

She felt magic swirl up around them almost as soon as her lips touched his. He started to shake, violent tremors running through his delicate frame, and she threw her arms around him and held on tightly. The tremors increased, then turned into waves as he started to change. No matter how much she had read and prepared for this part, it was the part that scared her most.

Steve stared at her with frightened eyes as he started to take on the first of several shapes she knew were coming. "I've got you," she assured him. "I won't let go." He still looked frightened, but there was trust in his eyes before they changed completely, and then she was no longer holding on to Steve, but a salamander. She clutched the tiny, wriggling lizard against her chest, and it wasn't long before it started to grow, changing again, and now she was holding a thrashing fox in her arms. The fox snapped at her hand, but she just moved her arm to pin his head against her chest and avoid the teeth and clung on even tighter. She had to keep holding on until Steve came back, or he would be stuck forever in his animal shape.

His shapes kept changing, and she kept clinging on, holding tight to the owl, the wolfhound and the rabbit. Then the rabbit began to change, the fur becoming coarser as the body in her arms grew larger and larger. She swallowed down a nervous knot in her throat and closed her eyes. The bear was the last one. If she could just hold on…

As tight as she was holding on, she could feel the roar building in its chest before the bear let loose a noise that sounded like furious thunder. It echoed through the trees and the forest went still, and Peggy locked her legs around the animal to help her keep her grip. "Almost there, Steve, we're almost there," she soothed, trying to calm the beast as it stood up on its hind legs and tried to shake her off. "It's me; I'm here. It's alright."

The next sound the bear made was closer to that of a sad dog than a fearsome forest predator, and Peggy lifted one hand to stroke the fur of his shoulder. "That's right, it's Peggy. I'm here. Hush now, my darling. We're nearly through."

The bear moaned and staggered, and the force of it stumbling back down onto all fours nearly knocked Peggy loose, but she hung on. The bear rolled over onto its side with another moan, then shivered as it started to change again. The fur disappeared as the beast shrunk down, and soon he was Steve again.

He lay there gasping on the forest floor, curled up and shivering under the green cloak with Peggy pressed against his back, her arms around his chest. For a moment, she worried that all of that had been for nothing, because she could still feel the wings on his back where she was pressed up against him, could still see the tips of his pointed ears. But then he started to change one more time.

She felt his wings shrinking away beneath her, not just folding down, but disappearing. The tops of his ears were shortening, rounding and smoothing out. He was growing too, getting taller and stretching out as his delicate fairy bones were replaced with larger, sturdier human ones, fleshed out with more powerful muscles. Everything was suddenly still and silent, and Peggy slowly let go of him

"Steve?" she asked.

His eyes fluttered open. Those same intensely blue eyes stared back up at her, then he was smiling at her the way he always did. "You did it," he breathed.

"I did it," she whispered, hardly believing it herself. "You're human."

"I'm human," he agreed, still smiling. He sat up carefully, his cheeks reddening as he pulled the cloak tighter around himself. "I'm naked," he added.

Peggy huffed a laugh. "That's how it always happened in the other stories." She reached for her rucksack. "I did bring some clothes for you. I hope they fit—I wasn't expecting you to get taller."

She handed him the clothes and turned away, packing up the things she'd gotten out of her sack. The light of torches appeared in the trees, and Peggy grinned as Sebille and her soldiers emerged from the darkness. "Too late," Peggy said, nodding back behind her.

Sebille growled.

"Oh, and look," Peggy added, pointing at the forest floor where she'd strewn the extra salt earlier. "Best get to work."

She turned away, outwardly smug but knowing they'd best not press their luck. Steve had pulled on the trousers she'd brought, which were rather short and snug, but fit well enough to be decent, and he was pulling on his shirt. Peggy just managed to stop herself making a very appreciative noise at the sight of the very well-muscled chest he was now in possession of. This wasn't exactly the time.

"Not quite out of the woods yet, darling," she said, slinging her rucksack over one shoulder and taking his hand. "Ready to run?"

He grinned, looking back over his shoulder at Sebille and her soldiers and the salt and laughed. "Let's go."

They hurried through the thickening evergreens, and it was dark now, but Peggy remembered the way, and Steve seemed to know where he was going. The doorway on this side was much more obvious—an opening between two intertwined trees—and they hurried through. Peggy quickly let go of Steve's hand and reached into her rucksack for a jar of blessed oil and a pack of matches. She poured the oil over the toadstools and the trunk of the tree, then tossed a lit match onto it.

The fire caught immediately, brilliant blue flames shooting up to tower above them, then, just as quickly as they'd flared up, they burnt out, leaving behind a smoldering stump and charred patch of earth.

"In case they felt like following us," Peggy said, answering Steve's curious eyebrow. She reached back into the bag, pulling out the last item, and the one that had been the hardest to find. It was a tree pendant on a chain, just like the one Steve had given her, and she went up on her toes and placed it around his neck. "There," she said happily. "Now they can never get you back."

Steve touched the pendant gingerly, like he was expecting it to burn, then stared at it in wonder when it didn't. He seemed at a complete loss for words, so Peggy simply took his hand in hers and started walking, leading him out of the forest.

Time really did seem to work differently in the fairy world, because it was afternoon again—the same afternoon she'd left, it looked like, if the half-finished bird's nest she'd walked under earlier was any indication. They reached the willow tree and stopped inside the canopy, looking up at the light filtering through the leaves and the little butterflies flitting about. Steve looked down at her and smiled. "You saved me," he said.

"I did," she said proudly, suddenly wanting to cry and not sure why. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly, resting her head on his chest. "I almost can't believe it."

He hugged her back. "Thank you," he breathed. They just stood there like that for a little while, holding one another.

"Can I ask you something?" he said after a moment.

She pulled her head back to look up at him.

"What you said back there, about me being the one that you…Did you mean that?"

"I did," she said. The magic wouldn't have worked if she hadn't.

"You really love me?"

"I do. Ever since I was a little girl."

If she'd thought his smile was lovely before, it was positively glowing now. He reached up one hand to the side of her face, and she sighed happily and leaned into the touch. "I love you too," he breathed. Moisture sprang up and sparkled in his eyes. "I could never say it before. I wanted to, for such a long time, but the magic wouldn't let me. But I love you, Peggy. I love you so much." He leaned down and kissed her, and Peggy wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

When they stopped, he straightened up, lifting Peggy up off her feet before she loosened her arms from around his neck and slid back to the ground. "It's going to take a bit of getting used to, looking up at you," she said with a grin. "I'm used to being the tall one."

He laughed. "I'm not really sure where this came from," he said, looking down at his feet and taking in his new stature. "Maybe I came from a tall family."

"Do you want to try to find them?" Peggy asked. She wondered how much he remembered now.

Steve smiled down at her fondly. "You've been trying to get me to remember things for, what seven years? If you hadn't, I never would have come this far, but…" He shook his head. "I don't remember. Not where or when I'm from. No last name…" He huffed a laugh. "I don't even know how old I am."

"Well, seeing as you've seemed to grow up around the same speed as me, I would guess you're about eighteen, but…" Her smile fell away. "Steve, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he said, taking her hands. "Whatever that life was, I lost it a long time ago. Where I'm from…" He shook his head. "I don't need to know that. All I need is to know where I belong now. And that's with you."

Peggy smiled and kissed him again. "That _is_ where you belong, my darling. And you always will."

Steve grinned. "You've never called me darling before today, have you?"

"No," she said. "It just seemed…appropriate, somehow."

"I thought it was new. I like it," he said. "You call me that all you want."

"I shall," she replied. "So long as you tell me you love me as often as you want, now that you can."

"I won't ever stop," Steve promised. He cupped her face gently in his hands and kissed her again. "I love you so much."

"And I love you, my darling," she replied.

They stepped out from under the willow tree, surveying the garden beyond. "I can really go out there, now," Steve said in amazement.

"You can go anywhere," Peggy said. A thought occurred to her, and she chuckled.

"What?"

"Oh, I'm just thinking of the look on my mother's face when I tell her I shan't be letting her have Fred over anymore, as I'm going to be marrying the man I found out in the woods."

Steve laughed.

Peggy grinned. "I don't think she'll take it well. We may just have to elope and then run away to the dig in Persia after my exams."

Steve smiled broadly. "I'm coming with you to Persia?"

"You're coming with me everywhere," Peggy told him. "For the rest of our lives."

* * *

_That's it for Fairy Steve and Peggy!_

_Next up, a bodyguard AU, with secret agents and conspiracies and mysteries, as well as a couple of familiar faces._


	4. The Bodyguard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The setting for this one is 1947. More or less Season 2 of Agent Carter, except nobody went to California. Project: Rebirth didn't work, but the war and Peggy's career in the S.S.R. continued on close enough to the MCU's storyline that we find her in the same place. A civilian named Steve Rogers comes across some Hydra information he shouldn't have, and Peggy gets pulled off her normal caseload to run witness protection. Cue the espionage and intrigue. (This was going to be just a straight-up bodyguard AU, but of its own accord, the story turned into the 1940's version of the show Chuck. (Just as an FYI for those who notice the similarities. You don't need to have seen Chuck for this story to make sense.))

* * *

Peggy took a moment before walking into Thompson's office—she had issues with her new assignment, but she couldn't go in there sounding upset. She had to choose her moments of emotion carefully in any case, since she didn't want to be dismissed as 'too emotional for a man's job', but she also knew that Thompson, though he trusted her as an agent now, still hadn't gotten over his enjoyment of trying to rile her up.

"Excuse me, Chief," she said, knocking on his door and sticking her head in.

Jack looked up from a report he was reading. "You're here to complain about your new assignment, aren't you?"

Peggy opened her mouth to protest, but Jack cut her off.

"You're being way too polite," he said. "Can't think of anything else you might want, so…" He arched an eyebrow inviting her to contradict him, and she sighed. He grinned.

"I wasn't going to complain," she said. "But I did have questions."

"Alright," Jack said, sitting back in his chair. "I'll answer them, but you're still going to do it."

"Jack, no one knows the Dottie Underwood case better than I do. Is putting me on protective duty really the best use of my time?" she asked. They had grown beyond the point where he felt the need to give her unpleasant assignments just to spite her, but in cases like this, she couldn't help wondering.

"To be honest with you, no," he replied. He smirked and shook his head. "You're a lot easier to deal with when you're out in the field. And you are pretty good at it," he added, only a little begrudgingly. "But you're still doing this."

"But, Jack, if we both agree—"

"I know you don't want to play bodyguard because you want to be out solving cases. I don't want you playing bodyguard, because I'm going to have a headache as long as you're unhappy. But Colonel Phillips wants you playing bodyguard, so that's what you're going to do."

That brought Peggy up short. "Colonel Phillips?" she asked. She had served under the Colonel during the war, but she'd heard very little from him in the two years since. He'd been pleased with her work and secured her a position with the S.S.R. office in New York, and there had been vague talks about some new intelligence organization he was working on, but nothing had come to fruition as yet.

"Yep," Jack replied. "And when the guy who founded the S.S.R. puts in a special request for a specific agent, the local S.S.R. Chief lets him have that agent."

Peggy sighed. There wouldn't be any getting out of it if Phillips had asked for her personally. She was slightly heartened by the fact that it was Phillips who had asked, so the job would probably be at least somewhat interesting. Interesting enough to make up for the ground she would lose on the Underwood case, unlikely. But at least it was something.

"Alright," Peggy said. "Daniel should know where all of my notes are. And if you ask nicely, Mr. Jarvis should bring you up to date on anything he and I discovered that Daniel doesn't know."

Jack nodded. "Phillips said he'd send a car by your apartment in an hour. Better go pack." He waited until she'd started walking out of the office to add with a grin, "Have fun babysitting!"

Peggy tossed him a rather rude hand gesture as she walked away, and she heard him laugh.

She went home and packed a bag, though Phillips' orders had been unclear on where this protection detail was going to be taking place. She assumed nowhere she would need special gear for, or he would have mentioned it, so she took her standard go bag and added a few more things in case this turned out to be a longer term assignment.

Somewhat to her surprise, Phillips himself was driving the car when it came to fetch her. "Carter," he greeted as she got in. "Long time. New York boys treating you alright?"

"Well enough," she replied, and it was true. Not as well as she would have liked, but she was getting cases and being treated like she knew what she was doing most of the time, and that was an improvement over the last year that she would accept.

Phillips chuckled, as if he was aware of her inner monologue. "You'll get your chance to use your talents soon enough," he said. "This S.H.I.E.L.D. thing of ours is getting close to being off the ground, and don't think your name isn't at the top of my list."

"Thank you, Sir," she said. "Is this assignment part of that?"

"Not really," he said. "Depending on how things go with this guy, he might turn out to be important to S.H.I.E.L.D., but at the moment, no."

"If I may ask, Sir," she said. She knew Phillips well enough to know that he wouldn't take her question as impertinent, and that he would give her an honest answer. "Why did you ask for me? We were in the middle of an important case."

"I know," he said. "But I asked for you because I need someone I can trust."

She arched a curious eyebrow.

Phillips sighed. "Hydra isn't as dead as we would have liked to think it was."

"What?"

He nodded grimly. "Schmidt was the face of it, but it looks like Zola was right about more heads popping up when you cut one off." He sighed. "They're inside the S.S.R."

Peggy took a moment to take this in. "That's why you came to fetch me yourself." She'd been surprised to see him in the car to begin with, but now the lack of a driver made more sense. He'd needed to be able to talk to her alone.

He nodded. "I know enough to know they're there, but not enough to know who they are. I have four people I know I can trust absolutely, and one of them is you."

Peggy felt suddenly rather touched. "Thank you, Sir," she said. "Although, since you put it that way…You haven't seen me in two years. How do you know you can trust me?"

He chuckled. "Just because I haven't seen you doesn't mean I don't know what you've been up to. And I fought alongside you for the whole war. I trust you."

She smiled. "I won't let you down, Sir."

He smiled back. "I know. And that's the other reason I picked you. Because you're the best at what you do, and if anyone knows what to look out for and how to keep someone alive, it's you. And it is very important that this guy stay alive."

She nodded. "Who is he?"

"A witness."

"To what?"

Phillips huffed a semi-amused snort. "We're not completely sure yet." He drew in a deep breath. "It has something to do with Erskine."

Peggy felt her breath catch in her throat. Professor Erskine had been a very close friend and colleague during the war, and a brilliant scientist. He'd been killed by Hydra just before the end of the war.

Phillips tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he searched for the best way to explain. "The guy's name is Rogers. Little fella; asthma; 4-F during the War. Works at the museum. No connection to anything or anyone important. Two days ago, a package shows up at Rogers' apartment. Some sort of device was inside, and when he picks it up, it…I don't even know if there's a word for what happened, it just…He knows a lot more than he should now. The thing put it all in his head somehow."

"I don't understand," Peggy said.

"Neither does anyone else," Phillips said. "There's some techs looking over the device, but it self-destructed when it finished doing whatever it was doing."

"How do we know Professor Erskine was involved?"

"Because Rogers knows his name," Phillips said. "Apparently, the thing came with some sort of introductory message, telling Rogers where to find me and what to say. I'd be a hell of a lot more suspicious if part of that didn't include a code that Erskine and I came up with for some of our most secure work. No one but the two of us ever used it."

"So Erskine gave it to Rogers so you would trust him," Peggy concluded. "Did he know Rogers?"

"As far as Rogers says, no," Phillips said. "That's another part of the mystery. And one of the problems with this thing is that it didn't include any instructions for Rogers for how to access the rest of the information. It just sort of comes to him in bits and pieces, and we can't figure out any rhyme or reason to it. Some of our tech boys probably could, but again, I don't trust them. So far, everything he's given us is classified to hell and back, and some of it is stuff that even _I_ didn't know. Hydra would kill to get their hands on him. That's where you come in. We've got him in a safehouse for now, which is not all _that_ safe, since Hydra's probably in it. Everyone knows that you're here to transport him to a more remote location. Your plane is going to go down en route, and while it probably won't fool everyone into thinking you're both dead, it'll at least get you off the grid. Then you can keep him somewhere that's actually safe until we figure some things out."

Peggy nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"There's some more detailed instructions in that folder," Phillips said, nodding at a folder on the seat. "Put it in your bag and read it on the plane. Once we get out of the car, assume all conversations are not secure."

Peggy nodded, putting away the folder. "Does Rogers know about the plan?"

"No way to tell him without knowing who's listening," Phillips said, parking in front of a shop front that housed the 'safe' house. "You should probably fill him in before the plane crashes."

Peggy followed Phillips inside, her muscles taut with tension at the thought that anyone around them could be a spy. Phillips introduced her to a couple of people, leading her down to an underground level and opening a door to a small room. Sitting inside on a cot and sketching something in a notebook was her new assignment. Phillips hadn't been kidding when he called him a 'little fella'. He stood up when she came in, and he was still a few inches shorter than her. He was thin and rather frail-looking, and he seemed a bit jumpy, though Peggy could hardly begrudge him that. If he really was just a civilian, all this cloak and dagger business was probably quite unnerving.

"Rogers, this is Agent Carter," Phillips said. "She's going to be taking over security for you. Carter, Steve Rogers."

"Hello, Agent Carter," Rogers said, coming forward and shaking her hand. He was eyeing Phillips nervously, but he didn't seem put off that a woman was going to be handling his security, which Peggy decided to count as a point in his favour. "Nice to meet you."

"And you, Mr. Rogers," she said. "Are you ready to go?"

"I guess," he said, casting an eye around the little room he was in. "I've never been in a plane before."

Unfortunately, his first plane ride was also going to involve a plane crash, so Peggy suspected he wasn't going to enjoy it much.

"Grab your stuff and get going," Phillips said. "Plane's waiting."

Rogers turned back to his cot and picked up a backpack that had been sitting against it, stuffing his notebook and pencil in before zipping it up. "Lead the way, Agent," he said, looking at Peggy. He followed her and Phillips back up to the main level, smiling in relief as they headed for the door. "It'll be nice to get outside again," he said. "I've been down in that basement for two days."

"It's for your own protection," Phillips reminded him.

"Yes, Sir," Rogers said, looking down at his feet and looking a little embarrassed for having brought it up. He didn't say anything else as they got into the car and drove away. Peggy felt a little bad for him—she was used to Phillips' gruffness, but she supposed he could come off as intimidating. She hoped Rogers was a bit more talkative once it was just the two of them out at wherever they were going, or it was going to be a very long assignment.

The driver took them right onto the airstrip where a small plane was waiting for them. Peggy did wonder, given Phillips' worry about Hydra, who was going to be piloting them—she'd flown in planes before, but never piloted one herself. Phillips ushered them up into the plane, whispered cryptically that he'd be in touch, then got back into the car with the driver to pull out of the plane's way.

"So, you're going to be flying us to wherever we're going?" Rogers asked once they were inside. The plane was empty but for the two of them.

"Ah," Peggy began. "No, actually, I don't know how to fly a plane—"

"But I do!" crackled a familiar voice through the radio up front.

Arching an amused, curious eyebrow, Peggy moved up to the controls. "Mr. Jarvis?" she asked.

"Hello, Agent Carter," the radio replied. "Splendid to be working with you again."

"And you," she said, smiling. "I take it you're one of the four people the Colonel trusts?"

"It would seem so. Mr. Stark is one of the others, and he has designed this plane to be flown by remote control. I shall be piloting you from the comfort of Mr. Stark's Park Avenue home, allowing the plane to crash in complete safety."

"Wait, what?" Rogers asked from behind her.

"I haven't filled Mr. Rogers in on the rest of the plan yet," Peggy said.

"Oh. My apologies," Mr. Jarvis replied. "Why don't you sit in the pilot's seat for the moment so that it will appear to anyone watching that you are flying the plane, and I'll just get things going while you explain."

Peggy settled in to the pilot's seat, gesturing for Rogers to sit down beside her. "Please tell me the part about crashing is some sort of spy code for something else," Rogers said.

"I'm afraid it isn't," Peggy said as the engines came to life. "Though, if it's any consolation, we're not going to be on the plane when it crashes."

"I guess that helps a little," Rogers conceded. "Are you allowed to tell me what's happening? I've had no idea what's been going on for the past two days, and now I feel like I'm missing even more pieces."

"What do you know about Hydra?" Peggy asked.

Instead of answering right away, Rogers winced and shut his eyes, rubbing at the side of his head. "Um," he began. He opened his eyes. "The Colonel didn't tell me a lot, but…evil Nazi scientists from the War? I got that part."

"Yes," Peggy said as the plane started to move. "Unfortunately, they aren't relegated to just the War. They are still very much alive, and very much embedded in the S.S.R."

Rogers considered this. "Is that why nobody would tell me anything? Because these Nazi guys might be listening?"

"Yes," she replied, pleased he'd caught on so quickly.

"I'm still not following why that leads to us crashing the plane."

"Because faking your death is the best way to keep them from finding you."

"Wait, they want _me_?!" Rogers asked.

Peggy arched an eyebrow. "Yes. Why did you think we were moving you?"

"Because they decided against locking me in a basement forever? I don't know," he said. "Nobody's telling me anything."

Peggy tilted her head curiously. "And you're just going along with that?"

"I don't have much of an option," he said. "When big Army guys with guns tell you to do something, you kind of have to do it." He sighed, scrubbing his hands down over his face. "These past two days have been kind of a blur. My head is just…I have no idea what's happening inside my head right now, and I'm not really sure _why_ I went to the S.S.R. in the first place, but once I got there, they wouldn't let me leave. Like, I got that what was in my head was important, but nobody ever said it was life or death. I was glad to do my part and help my country with this new information, but I didn't understand why they wanted me to stay locked up somewhere and I couldn't just go home and come back in the morning. I tried arguing the point, and this big guy physically picked me up and carried me down to that little room—which, by the way, was in _no_ way degrading or humiliating," he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "He also stood by the door and threatened to shoot me if I came out, so, yeah, I'm going along with that."

"Oh," Peggy said. She grimaced. "We really are trying to protect you, though I don't know why no one came out and just said as much." They could have done that without alarming Hydra. "I'm sorry."

He looked up at her curiously, then a small smile quirked up one side of his mouth. It was rather a nice smile. "Thanks," he said. "You're the first person who's said that to me."

Peggy smiled back, though she felt rather embarrassed on behalf of her organization. Her mind played back through the faces she'd seen in the safehouse. "Tell me, the one who picked you up and then threatened to shoot you—was he quite large, sandy hair, square in the jaw?"

Rogers nodded.

"Corporal Hodge," she said. "How the man survived the war without being taken out by friendly fire, I'll never know." That earned her a huff of laughter and a larger smile from Rogers. "He _is_ rather a brute. I apologize again for the behaviour of my colleagues. Next time we see him, I shall punch him for you."

"Oh, you don't have to—"

"I've been wanting to punch the man for years," she said. "But that's a conversation for another time. Back to the matter at hand—we're both on the same page now that there are very bad people who are trying to find you, and we're keeping you away from them?"

"Yes."

"Right. So, the plane crashing will hopefully convince all but the most determined ones that you are no longer around to be found. You and I shall be exiting the plane via parachute before it crashes, and Mr. Jarvis will be putting it down somewhere. I presume over water?" she said in the direction of the controls.

"Indeed," Mr. Jarvis agreed. "The lack of bodies will be an annoyance, but will not rouse suspicion, thanks to currents and the like."

"Parachute?" Rogers asked a bit nervously. "Couldn't we just…land and get out, and then he could fly the plane off and crash it?"

"No," Peggy said. "Our communications are secure, but our flight pattern is being monitored. A delay like that will be noticed."

Rogers nodded. "Okay." He was looking a bit green around the gills. "I'm not very good with heights," he admitted.

"This isn't my first time jumping out of a plane," she said. "I'll make sure we both land alive."

"Thanks." He didn't look entirely convinced, but Peggy imagined that had to do more with the prospect of jumping out of a plane, which was a terribly daunting task the first time around. "What happens then?"

"I'm not sure," Peggy said. "I've got instructions I was supposed to read once we were on the plane. How long until we're supposed to crash, Mr. Jarvis?"

"Another hour," the radio replied. "Plenty of time to catch yourself up."

"If you'll excuse me, then," Peggy said, getting up and moving to her bag and the folder.

"Sure, sure," Rogers said. He stayed up front for a moment longer, then moved back to his own bag and dug out his notebook, resuming his sketching.

Peggy pulled out the folder and read quickly over the contents. There was a secure, encrypted radio on board the plane that she and Rogers would take with them when they jumped. It would enable them to communicate with Phillips without being detected, though they could only use it at certain times, when he was free. They would be jumping out of the plane over the Low Country of South Carolina, while Mr. Jarvis flew on along the coast in the direction of Florida, before sending the plane down into the sea. Peggy tried to suppress a sigh. The salt marshes would be isolated enough to give them cover and close enough to town to get supplies, but, Crikey O'Reilly, it was nearly June! It was going to be disgustingly hot and humid, with mosquitos everywhere. Couldn't they have flown west and crashed the plane over one of the Great Lakes instead?

She finished reading over the coordinates of the safehouse and details of security, then checked her watch. Not long now. Rogers was still sketching away in his book. When Peggy first noticed him doing it back in the safehouse, she'd thought perhaps it was a way to pass the time, but the way he was holding his pencil now looked more as though it was a nervous habit. She wondered what he was drawing.

"It's coming up on time to jump. You ready, Rogers?" she asked.

"Huh?" He looked up. "Oh, um, I guess." He put his things away. "I'm going to go ahead and apologize in advance for the fact that this will probably make me throw up."

"Noted," she said. She walked him through jumping out of a plane with a parachute, making sure he knew how everything was going to work. He got more and more pale the more she explained, and she really hoped, especially since he would be strapped to her, that he would wait to throw up until they hit the ground.

They collected their things, the radio, and the pack of equipment that Phillips had had there waiting for them, fastened themselves into the parachute, and readied themselves by the door.

"Good luck, Agent Carter!" called Mr. Jarvis from the radio. "I shall be contacting you when the plane is about to go down for the appropriate theatrics." She was going to have to come on the radio and pretend as though she was still in the plane as it crashed.

"Thank you, Mr. Jarvis," she said. "Talk to you soon!" She patted Rogers once on the shoulder, and he squeezed his eyes shut and let out a little whimper that was quiet enough she would pretend she didn't hear it. Then she jumped.

There was something exhilarating in flying through the air in a freefall, reminiscent of old missions during the war, and the surge of adrenaline invigorated her. Rogers, on the other hand, did not seem to be enjoying it nearly as much as she was, but at least he wasn't screaming. He did make a noise when she pulled on the cord to slow their descent that made her wonder if the promised vomiting was about to be forthcoming, but he reined it in. "Legs ready for landing!" she yelled over the wind, hoping he would remember her earlier instructions. He did open his eyes then and move to brace himself for impact with the ground. They still overbalanced and tumbled to the ground anyway—Peggy had suspected they would, since she wasn't accustomed to the weight of another person in such maneouvers—but at least his legs being down split the impact so that it didn't send a shockwave up Peggy's knees.

They rolled into a tangled heap and came to a stop in the tall grass. Peggy sat up and unfastened herself from both Rogers and the parachute. Rogers was breathing hard and had his eyes shut again, like he was waiting for something else to happen.

"We did it," Peggy said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We've landed."

"Uh huh," he said a little tightly. Suddenly he lurched to his feet and staggered several feet away, then vomited violently into the grass. Peggy thought it best to stay where she was and let him preserve at least a little bit of dignity, and after a minute he straightened up and came back, then sat down heavily next to her. "Sorry," he muttered, his cheeks bright red, though whether it was from embarrassment or exertion, it was hard to tell.

"It's alright," Peggy said. "It wasn't bad for your first jump."

He looked up at her skeptically.

"You didn't break any bones, and you're still conscious," she pointed out.

"Yeah, I guess," he sighed. Peggy remembered Phillips saying he had asthma, and he looked like he needed a few minutes to get his breath back, so Peggy took the opportunity to pull out a collapsible shovel from Phillips' bag of gear and dig a shallow hole to bury the parachute, hiding any evidence of their landing. She pulled out a compass and a map, and calculated that they had aimed quite well and only had about fifteen minutes or so of walking to do to reach the safehouse.

The radio at her side crackled, and Mr. Jarvis reported that this was her cue. She put on rather a convincing performance she thought, going from calmly informing home base of technical difficulties, before rising through increasing levels of panic and then abruptly shutting off the radio. Rogers was staring at her in fascination when she was done.

"Wow," he said. "You could be a radio star with theatrics like that. They teach you that in spy school?"

She chuckled. "I was in the middle school drama club. Are you ready to start moving?"

"Sure," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "We're not camping, are we?"

"No," she said. "There's a safehouse about fifteen minutes that way. A proper safehouse that's actually safe," she added.

They started walking, Peggy slowing her pace to match Rogers' shorter stride. It was midafternoon, and it was, as Peggy had predicted, disgustingly hot and muggy. The house they would be staying in was on the coast—the water was easy to watch for approaching company and provided a handy escape if needed—but as they got closer to the water, the mosquitos made their appearance. She and Rogers were soon swatting at their exposed skin to ward off the vampirous insects.

"Um, Agent Carter?" Rogers said, coming to an abrupt stop behind her. His voice was high and a bit tight, and Peggy whirled around expecting to find a man with a gun behind him. He appeared to be alone, but he was staring down at his feet nervously, and had gone a couple of shades paler.

She looked down to see what he was looking at, and spotted a slender patch of white scaly skin, spotted with black and orange. A faint rattle sounded from the tail of the snake at his feet.

"Right," she said quietly. "Don't move." Carolina Rattlesnakes were venomous, and a trip to the hospital was hardly the way to start an incognito hideout.

"Not moving," he breathed. "Don't think I remember how."

Peggy ran through all her options quickly, deciding a gunshot would be far too loud in this open area and she might not hit the thing anyway. Quickly as she could, she pulled the collapsible shovel from where it was strapped to the outside of her bag and unfolded it. The snake rattled again, rising a little higher off the ground.

"It can still bite when its head is severed," Peggy said quietly. "When the shovel comes down, jump back."

"Uh huh," Rogers nodded.

The snake hissed and Peggy lunged forward with the shovel. The snake was lunging too, and the blade of the shovel caught it two inches behind the head, severing it cleanly. The head continued flying forward, fangs bared, and Rogers flailed backwards, tripping and rolling, but getting himself well clear. The body thrashed on the ground for several long seconds before finally going still. The mouth of the severed head was twitching slightly before it too ceased in its movements.

"Are you alright?" Peggy asked, skirting around the dead snake and stopping beside Rogers. He was still sitting on the ground, staring at the snake with wide eyes.

"What the hell happened to my life?" he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He looked up at Peggy like she might have the answer. "Two days ago, I was just a normal guy who worked in a museum. The hardest part of my job was mixing oil paint to the right tone so it would match for Renaissance painting restorations, and the most dangerous part was making sure I had enough ventilation so the paint fumes didn't give me a headache. And now I have top secret information exploding in my head, and there's Nazis trying to kill me, and I'm jumping out of planes into swamps and there's…" He gestured at the snake, and Peggy bit down the bizarre urge to point out that this was a marsh, not a swamp. "There's freakin' poisonous snakes, and I just…What the hell is happening?"

Peggy's life hadn't been normal in such a long time that she had sort of forgotten how different it was from a quiet, regular life. She felt a wave of pity for Steve, whose life had done a complete one-eighty in less than forty-eight hours and showed no signs of slowing down any time soon. She went down on one knee beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said. "But it's going to be okay. We're going to get you somewhere safe, and we're going to figure things out." He looked up at her, looking lost. "I promise," she said.

He looked at her for a moment longer, then nodded slowly. "Okay. Sorry. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," she assured him. She stood up and offered him a hand, pulling him back to his feet.

"Um, thank you for…" He waved a hand at the snake.

"You're welcome," she said. "Come on," she said, patting his shoulder. "Nearly there."

The house they were headed for was soon visible, rising up above the tall grass on its elevated beams. It looked rather picturesque, with its white wooden paneling and cheerful blue shutters and the little wind chime hanging off the underside of the porch; but Peggy knew the walls were far thicker than they appeared, sturdy and safe; and that the beams lifting the house twelve feet off the ground weren't just to fit in with the local aesthetic, but provided her with a higher perch to survey the landscape and limited entry to the single staircase and front door.

She was glad to get out of the tall, itchy grass, though the mosquitos were no less prevalent when they moved onto the sand. The two of them mounted the stairs, and she had Rogers wait on the screened-in porch as she secured the rest of the house. Once it was clear they were the only two inside, she moved him in and locked the door.

Rogers sank down onto the sofa with a sigh, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as he caught his breath from the walk. Peggy moved around and flicked on the lights, and was pleased that they had ended up somewhere with both electricity and running water. Compared to some of the safehouses she'd hunkered down in during the war, the amenities, proper mattresses, and fully stocked linen closet and pantry put this place practically on level with the Waldorf-Astoria. She brewed up two strong, sweet cups of tea, and moved back into the living room and sat on the chair opposite Rogers.

"Here you are," she said, handing him a teacup. "Alright, then?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Thanks." He blushed a little. "I'm probably not creating the best first impression, am I?"

Peggy wasn't sure if he was referring to the way he was handling this turn of events, or his need to keep catching his breath, perhaps thinking it implied he was out of shape. In either case, she gave him a reassuring smile. "All things considered, I think you're doing well."

"You don't have to say stuff like that just to make me feel better," he pointed out.

"I'm not," she replied. She really did think he was doing well—this sort of thing was old hat for her, but it was all new to him, and he was adapting. "You're not a secret agent, so I don't expect you to handle this like one. For a civilian whose world has gotten turned on its head, you really are holding together well."

He smiled gratefully and took a sip of his tea.

"Now that we have some time," she began. "Can I ask about this information of yours? Colonel Phillips said it was something like a database of sorts in your head, but I'm afraid I don't understand how it works."

Rogers huffed a semi-amused laugh. "Neither do I, really. But I'll do my best." He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully for a moment. "It's settling down some now," he said. "When it first happened, all this new stuff—faces and names and codes I didn't recognize—were exploding through my head almost all the time. It's calmed down now, though, and it's like…It comes to me in these flashes, all this top-secret information. Like, earlier on the plane, when you said the word 'Hydra'. It was like a…like a highlight reel when you watch the news in the theater, except faster and more detailed. I suddenly knew what Hydra was and the sorts of things they did in the war."

"Does it go away after you see it, or do you still remember it?" Peggy wondered.

"I remember most of it," Rogers said. "Some of it's harder to hold on to, just because I don't have context for it, but most of it stays without any trouble."

"Interesting," she mused. She remembered the way he'd winced and rubbed the side of his head back on the plane. "Does it hurt? When you get your…flashes?"

"Sometimes," he allowed. "If it's a lot. It's like this intense, but thankfully brief, headache."

"And you didn't know Doctor Erskine at all?" she asked.

"Never met the man. I've never even heard of him before this, and I have no idea why he sent it to me," he added, preempting her next question.

"Hmm," she mused. "Were you involved in the war effort at all?" she asked.

His cheeks colored. "No. I tried, but between the asthma and everything else…They wouldn't take me."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to imply…" she said, realizing it was a touchy subject. She didn't really need to imagine the way it stung when you wanted to do something important and were told you weren't good enough. "I was just trying to work out if there was some way you connected up to Erskine without realizing it."

"Oh," he said. "I really don't think so. Our museum did store some pieces that were evacuated from cities being bombed, and one of the projects they've had me on recently is helping to track the provenance of things the Nazis stole to try to get them back to their original owners. So, unless your Dr. Erskine was involved in that…"

"I doubt he was," Peggy sighed. "He was involved in research and development." She considered. "What about family? Maybe a relative of yours worked with him, and he got your name that way?"

Rogers shook his head. "Don't have any family. Dad died before I was born, and then Ma died when I was eighteen. No brothers or sisters…I guess the closest I've got is my best friend—he was in the war but…" He paused and swallowed down a knot in his throat. "He died in Azzano in '43."

"I'm sorry," Peggy said. He seemed to be rather alone in the world—she wondered suddenly if there was anyone to miss him now that he'd disappeared.

"Thanks," he said softly. "I guess I just…" He sighed and shook his head. "I have no idea why this is happening to me." He sat up a little straighter and looked her in the eye. "Will I ever get to go home?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I just, I need to know," he said. "I didn't have much of an exciting life before, but it was mine. Am I going to get it back, or is the rest of my life going to be pretending to be dead and running from Nazis?"

Peggy was quiet for a moment, not wanting to make empty promises. "I don't know," she said at last. "But I do know that we're going to do everything we can to try to sort this. You just keeping this information in your head and having it randomly appear is hardly a workable solution. Once things settle a bit, we'll get Howard Stark in. He's the most brilliant man I know, and if anyone can figure out how to get this all out of your head so you can get back to your life, it'll be him."

He studied her for a long moment. "Okay," he said at last. There was that little half-smile again. "Thank you. I realize this is all probably pretty nuts for you too, but I appreciate your being honest with me. Not to bad-mouth your work buddies or anything, but I wasn't getting a lot of that back in New York."

Peggy inclined her head in agreement. "That is rather the nature of spy work, I'm afraid. But we're in this together now, you and I, and I shall always be honest with you." She wasn't quite sure why she said that (and she probably shouldn't have), but she meant it.

His smile widened. "Thank you."

They settled into two of the bedrooms and unpacked their few belongings. Peggy did another sweep of the house, paying attention to things like the sorts of noises the floorboards made, the sounds of the sea and the insects, and the way the shadows shifted in the house, making a baseline for what to expect and what to be suspicious of. She was somewhat surprised to come into the kitchen and find Rogers there working on dinner.

"Are you cooking?" she asked.

"Well, we have to eat something," he said with a smile. He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, then a smile quirked up one corner of his mouth. "You're surprised I can cook, aren't you?"

"A bit," she admitted. "I don't know many men who can."

He chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't have made it to twenty-eight if I couldn't. Guy's gotta eat somehow."

Peggy smiled. "I suppose you're right. But do you really want to put in that work after a day like today? Sandwiches seem easier."

He shook his head. "This is normal for me. I could use some normal right now."

"Alright," Peggy said, understanding. "I'll leave you to it, then."

She continued her exploration of the house. She found some more clothes in some of the drawers, as well as extra blankets, books, and stationary supplies. The closets were filled with the sorts of miscellaneous things all closets seemed to be filled with, though the one just off the living room had a compartment with a variety of weapons hidden behind a row of raincoats.

They had dinner, which was better than Peggy was expecting—just because Rogers could cook, it didn't mean he could cook well, so it was a pleasant surprise. Rogers went to bed not long after. Peggy stayed up for a while, familiarizing herself with what the house and surrounding marshland looked like at night. She spotted some lights farther down the coast indicating a neighbour—they would probably need checking out in the morning—and some more distant lights where the town was. She checked in quickly with Phillips over the radio and assured him they were settled and safe, then spent some time on the porch listening to the sounds of the sea before going to bed.

Rogers was awake before her and making breakfast the next morning, so she went down to inspect the boat and Jeep parked in the space below the house. Both were in good working order, and both had enough petrol in them to go a good distance, should they need to make an escape by land or by sea. She turned around at the sound of someone approaching and saw a woman about ten years older than her walking along the beach with a basket on her arm and a small dog at her side.

"Good morning!" the woman called.

"Morning!" Peggy replied in a cheerful American voice.

"I thought I saw some lights on over here last night," the woman said. She extended a hand. "I'm Maureen Brown. My husband and I live in the next house over." She gestured in the direction of the house Peggy had spotted the lights in last night.

"Oh, how nice!" Peggy replied. She looked the woman over carefully as she shook her hand. She didn't carry herself like an agent of any kind, nor could Peggy see the outline of any concealed weaponry beneath her clothes, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Best be cautious anyway. "I am glad to know we have neighbours out here! It's so lovely and quiet, but I did wonder if it wasn't going to get a little lonely."

"Well, you're welcome to stop by anytime for a chat and a glass of iced tea," Maureen said with a smile.

"That's awful kind of you," Peggy said. "Oh! I'm Maggie, by the way. Maggie Thompson." It was a common enough last name, and Peggy rather imagined it would annoy Jack to know she was using it. She heard a door creak on the porch above them. "Oh, that'll be Steve looking for me," she said, moving out from under the house. "I'm down here, darling! Come and meet our neighbour!" she called up, hoping that would give him enough time to prepare.

Rogers was doing his best not to look confused as he came down the stairs, and Peggy moved forward and put an arm around him. "Maureen, this is my husband, Steve Thompson. Steve, this is our neighbour, Maureen Brown."

Rogers gaped in surprise at being introduced as her husband, but seemed to catch on quickly enough to recover in a way that made him seem merely awkward instead of like he was trying to hide something. "Hello, Mrs. Brown," he said, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"And you, Mr. Thompson, and you," Maureen said. "I was just telling Maggie that my husband and I are the next house up that way." They made small talk for a few more minutes—Peggy noticed Rogers edging away from the little dog that kept sniffing at his feet. Maureen handed over the basket that was filled with fresh cookies she'd baked them, then waved cheerfully and headed back up the beach.

"So, I'm Steve Thompson, now?" Rogers asked as they headed inside.

"I needed a name, and Thompson is a common one," Peggy pointed out. "I was intending to sit down with you after breakfast so we could come up with a cover for the neighbours—I would have done it last night if I'd realized ours was going to be so aggressively hospitable."

Rogers laughed. "That was awfully nice of her. Now are we supposed to be suspicious of that, or…?"

Peggy laughed. "Now, see? You're getting the hang of this. Yes, we should be at least marginally suspicious of everyone from here on out. It's likely that she's a legitimate normal neighbour, but that is also a useful cover. I wouldn't be overly suspicious unless she starts coming around a lot."

Rogers nodded. "And I'm guessing you let me keep my first name because I'm new at this and you don't want me to forget who I'm supposed to be?"

Peggy smiled. "Yes. When you're lying, telling as much of the truth as possible is a good way to help you keep it straight."

"I'll remember that. Is your name really Maggie?" he wondered.

Peggy thought at first it was an odd question before she realized Phillips had introduced her as "Agent", and they'd never actually gone beyond that. "Well, it _is_ a derivation of Margaret, which is my real name, but I normally go by Peggy."

"Oh, okay." He smiled a little shyly. "I like that. It fits you better than Maggie."

Peggy wasn't sure what to say to that, so she smiled back.

"Can I call you that?" he asked, cheeks coloring slightly. "Or would you prefer me to stick with 'Agent Carter'?"

"Well, I do usually prefer to be called 'Agent Carter' while I'm on duty," she said. "But as this is shaping up to be a long assignment, I think we can bypass some formality. You are welcome to call me 'Peggy'," she said. "But if you call me 'Marge', I shall make you sleep on the porch."

He assured her he wouldn't dream of doing such a thing, then added that she was welcome to call him 'Steve'.

They ate breakfast and spent some time going over what their cover would be in case Maureen had more questions. They were already established as the Thompsons—Steve was going to be a history teacher, so that if any questions came up, he could use his knowledge from the museum and sound qualified in the subject, and Peggy couldn't abide by the idea of being a housewife, even for a cover, so she decided to be an English teacher. They met at school, married last year, and had come down from D.C. to rent the place for the summer on the doctor's suggestion that the sea air would be good for Steve's asthma.

They spent the morning quietly, getting to know one another over cups of tea. Steve's sketchbook was ever-present on his lap, and every now and then, he would start drawing something frantically. Peggy was getting more and more curious, and was about to ask what it was about, but he asked a question first.

"Peggy?" he said. "This is kind of a weird question, but can I ask you something?"

She nodded.

"Would you mind saying your name—your name with your title, like it might be in a file or something?"

"Why?" He was right, that was an odd question.

"I had an idea. Would you mind?"

"Alright," she said, still confused. "I'm Agent Peggy Carter."

His eyes widened for a moment, then drifted out of focus as his eyelids fluttered, his jaw going slack. In an instant, it was gone, and his normal expression returned. He smiled, pleased with himself. "I think I figured out how it works," he said.

"How what works?"

"The thing in my head," he said, gesturing at the side of his head with one hand. "Like I said yesterday, everything was nuts at first, but then it started settling down. And I think what triggers one of the…the flashes is hearing something that the database has information on. So, when you said your name, I got this burst of information about you."

She looked at him curiously. "You've got a file on me inside your head?"

"Well, I mean, this Dr. Erskine worked for the S.S.R., right? And the S.S.R. has a file on you. So, yeah, I guess so."

Peggy thought that over for a moment. It was sort of odd, though it made sense. "Project: Rebirth," she said experimentally.

His eyes did the same thing they had done a moment ago, then he looked at her and huffed a bemused laugh. "Are you testing me?"

"Did it work?"

He considered. "Project: Rebirth was Dr. Erskine's pet project during the war where he was trying to find a way to enhance the human body and make a 'super-soldier', but he could never find a candidate where the formula was successful, so no one knows if it actually works or not." He quirked an eyebrow. "I have no idea what the math means, but I can recite it if you'd like."

Peggy smiled in spite of herself. "That is impressive."

"Thanks." He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You're not just going to start throwing words at me now, are you? I don't get a headache if it's not a big thing, but it's still kind of disorienting."

Peggy smiled. "No. I have no desire to torment you. Although we may need to sit down at some point and work out what sorts of things you do know." She took a sip of her tea. "Does it work more than once? If I said something you already had a flash of, does it make you do it again?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "I only flashed on Hydra that one time, and you've used the word a couple times since then."

"Well, that's good," she said. "It wouldn't do for you to be zoning out whenever they come up." She watched as he returned his attention to his notebook. "Can I ask about the drawings?" she said. "Are you just a really enthusiastic recreational sketcher, or…?"

He huffed a quick laugh. "No. I do enjoy drawing, but this is helping me keep track of some of the stuff I see. Especially a lot of the stuff without context—it helps if I can get it down and see it."

"Oh," Peggy said. That explained why he always seemed to work so intensely after a flash. She stood up and patted him once on the knee. "Well, if it won't mess you up to leave it for a bit, come on. Let's get some air."

They walked up and down the shore for a bit, and Peggy found herself telling Steve about the holiday her family had taken by the sea the summer before the war broke out. It was the last memory she had of her family being at peace. The last memory she had of her brother being happy.

A couple of days passed, and they settled into a routine. Steve did all the cooking, and they would walk on the beach in the mornings and in the evenings when it wasn't too hot. They would chat throughout the day, and Steve would continue his sketches of the things he saw. As he seemed to settle a bit, he started displaying more and more interest in the security measures Peggy was taking. This was what his life was now, and he wanted to know how it all worked, and the sorts of things she was looking out for—he admitted half the things she thought of never would have occurred to him, and that he was glad his life was in her hands instead of his own.

He enjoyed hearing stories from the war too—he had the bare bones from his flash on her file, but she didn't mind filling in details—and she would be lying if she said she wasn't enjoying the admiration in his eyes when she told them. She'd had to fight hard to prove herself to Jack and the rest of the boys at the S.S.R., and they respected her now, but it had been a long time since she hadn't needed to fight for that respect, and even longer since anyone had admired her. It was rather nice.

Five days they'd been there now, and at her regular evening check in with Colonel Phillips, she asked if there was any word on the case she'd been working before—it was out of her hands now, but she couldn't help but wonder what sort of progress they'd made. Not much, as it turned out—an opportune lead had turned into a showdown and Dottie escaping once again. Peggy thanked him and switched off the radio with a huff.

"Something wrong?" Steve asked from his spot on the sofa.

Peggy shook her head. "Nothing I can do anything about. A case I was working before I came here isn't going well—not that I thought it would. They do seem to keep underestimating Dottie."

"Dottie?" Steve asked curiously.

"Dottie Underwood," Peggy said. She hadn't seen much point in keeping things classified from Steve, seeing as he already had access to so much classified information. She'd meant to go on and explain about the case, but before she could, Steve gasped and winced, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing a hand to the side of his head. "Steve?" she asked. This looked like one of his larger flashes, which she hadn't seen since the plane.

"Aah!" he moaned, listing sideways, and Peggy darted over and grabbed his shoulder before he fell to the floor.

"Steve, are you alright?"

He drew in several sharp, pained breaths, then began breathing more evenly, opening his eyes and shaking his head as if to clear it. "Wow," he breathed. "That was a big one."

"Are you alright?" Peggy asked again.

He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. Where's my book?"

Peggy reached over and handed him his sketchbook and pencil.

"Sorry," he said, snatching it away and scribbling quickly. "I need to…"

"No, go ahead," she said, straightening back up after a moment when she was sure he wasn't going to fall over again. Not sure of what else to do, she went and made another pot of tea, and when she came back into the room with a cup for him, he was drawing at a much more normal pace.

"Thanks," he said, looking up and taking the cup. He added a few more lines to his drawing, then closed the book.

"So, you've heard of Dottie, then?" Peggy asked, sitting back down.

"Yeah," he said. "Dottie, Leviathan…" He looked up at her. "Peggy, she is bad news."

Peggy huffed a laugh. "I had figured that one out on my own, thanks."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I mean really bad. Leviathan was a branch of Hydra. And the…" He closed his eyes, searching for one of the phrases that had flashed through his brain. "The Arena Club? Is that right?"

"Yes," Peggy said.

"They're Hydra," Steve said. "All of them, whatever their names are. They've got their hands in everything—like, rigging elections, engineering the crash of '29 everything. And Dottie is who they use to create distractions. All this freelancing stuff she's doing? She's not some assassin whose old organization fell apart who's just looking to fill her time. It looks random, but she's doing it to draw attention away from something else."

"Do you know what?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. But you should probably tell Colonel Phillips next time you talk to him. If they know she's trying to be a distraction, maybe they can try to work out from what." He stopped and swallowed hard. "Someone in the S.S.R. is helping her."

Peggy's eyes widened. "Who?"

Steve shook his head. "No name. No face, even, or I'd draw it for you. Whoever it is is good, because Erskine and whoever helped him put this intel together were trying to nail them down for years and never got anything."

"That must be how she keeps getting away from us," Peggy realized. "I mean, she's very good, but she's always had an element of luck that never seems to run out."

"Probably," Steve agreed. He offered her his sketchbook. "Do you want to look? This is where I draw the stuff I don't have context for, but maybe you'll know what some of it means."

They spent a little while going through the book—Steve was a very good artist, even when he was hastily scratching things down—but very little of it popped out at Peggy. There were some machines, locations, faces, rooms, and objects, as well as codes, lists of seemingly unconnected words, numbers, and formulas. Peggy recognized a couple of the codes, and one of the faces was a Hydra agent she'd thought had died during the war. A couple of the rooms were S.S.R. locations she recognized, but couldn't figure out the significance of. They eventually went to bed, and Peggy spent a long time staring thoughtfully into the dark.

They started spending time in the mornings seeing what sorts of things Peggy could mention that would elicit a flash from Steve. Phillips was very interested in what he knew now that he knew how to get at it. Howard was coming on in the evenings sometimes as well, asking more questions, requesting what data they could give him, and suggesting things they could try until he was cleared to come out and examine Steve himself. Peggy was learning a great deal, and Steve seemed very interested in the sorts of things he could come up with, but the problem that they were running into was that one had to be very specific in making requests. In order to get a flash, they had to have a name, or a date, or some sort of trigger word or phrase. Steve imagined it would work with photographs, but they didn't have any to test the theory with.

Peggy did notice that a morning spent combing through the depths of Steve's brain tended to wear him out and make him tired and short-tempered. He apologized when she pointed that out, but insisted that he could get a handle on it and power through.

"This is something we need, Peggy," he said. "I can keep going."

"I know you could," Peggy said. "But there's no reason you have to."

"It's important," he insisted. "I really can do this. I don't need you to coddle me."

"I'm not," she said, suddenly getting an inkling of where this might be coming from. She knew how hard Steve had tried to join the war effort—he'd somewhat sheepishly admitted to her that he had attempted to enlist five times under five different names. He didn't want to be discounted again because he was weak.

"Peggy—" he started again.

"I'm not," she insisted. "I know very well what it is like to have doors constantly slammed in your face. I know what it's like to believe in something, to want to contribute, and to be told you don't measure up. And I know the sort of drive it gives you when you finally get that chance." He was staring at her, and she smiled in understanding. "Please believe me when I say I understand, and that I am not trying to coddle you or treat you as though you're not strong enough to handle this." She stared at him now, making sure he got it, and waited for him to nod.

"The speed with which you have adapted to all of this has impressed me," she went on. "I completely believe that you can do this. But this is a long game. There's a time to wear yourself thin for the job, and this isn't it. There's no rush on what we're doing. You need to take care of yourself and keep from burning out." She smiled. "Save that drive for when we really need it."

He blushed a little, but he was smiling. "Okay," he said. "Sorry. I guess I was getting caught up in finally getting to be useful."

"I understand," she said. "Though I highly doubt you've ever been useless."

He shot her a grateful smile, though he inclined his head slightly as if he was considering arguing the point.

"Come on," she said, standing up. "Lunch, then a walk outside, and then I think I saw a Scrabble game in the hall closet. Perhaps losing a couple of games will make for a relaxing afternoon."

Steve grinned. "Funny, you don't strike me as the kind of girl who enjoys losing."

Peggy smirked. "I meant you."

"Oh, yeah? I was a sickly child, and Scrabble is real easy to set up on the mattress and play with a friend when you can't go outside. You might want to rethink your challenge."

"Bring it on, Rogers."

Steve turned out to be every bit as good as he'd promised at Scrabble, and since Peggy wasn't bad herself, it made for some very competitive games. It soon became part of their regular routine, though they had to buy a dictionary the next time they went into town for groceries to help with their frequent arguments over the validity of words.

It was towards the end of their third week that the first sign of trouble appeared. Peggy remained vigilant throughout the day, but was always on higher alert at night—the openness of the marsh around them made approach in the daylight without being seen impossible. Peggy was extra-cautious at night, waking every couple of hours to do a sweep around the house. The house was always locked, of course, with far sturdier locks than were standard in a normal house. The windows locked as well (and thank the Lord for ceiling fans in a hot place like this where she couldn't open the windows!), and Peggy made sure that the boat and Jeep were always parked in such a way that they couldn't be used to climb up. She also had taken the time to hang several things from the underside of the house, like plants in little clay pots, fishing gear, or strings of shells or artistically placed bits of driftwood (all on lines too weak to climb up, of course). They were things that didn't look out of place on a house by the sea, but would make an awful lot of noise banging together if someone tried to sneak through them. The screen door on the porch and the door into the house creaked loudly, and Peggy had gone out one evening and loosened several of the stair boards enough to make a decent noise too. It wasn't foolproof, of course, but it was enough to give a decent warning.

By now, she was used to the regular sounds of night by their bit of the sea, and as they were putting away the dinner things, she realized one was missing.

"Steve?" she asked. "Have you heard Muffin barking this evening?" Muffin was Maureen's little dog, and every evening around this time, they would go for a walk and Muffin would bark at the seagulls.

"No," Steve said, after thinking for a moment. "I feel like that's a good thing," he added. He wasn't particularly fond of Muffin—he was allergic to dogs, and she did like to try to jump all over him when she and Maureen came by. And she was very loud for a small dog. He sighed. "But your face makes me think it's bad," he said after looking over at her.

"It's different," Peggy said. "One is always suspicious of broken patterns in my line of work."

He nodded. "Do I need to do anything?"

"Go into your room and lock the door," Peggy said. "I'm going to do a quick sweep outside."

He nodded and complied, and Peggy appreciated that he trusted her enough to do so without arguing or insisting she was overreacting. Peggy made sure all the windows were locked, then went out the front door, locking it behind her. The door creaked just as it should have, and the screen around the porch appeared to be intact. With her gun at her side, she went down the stairs, and checked carefully underneath the house. Everything was where it should have been. She walked back up the stairs slowly, as she might have if she was trying to sneak in, and confirmed what she had noticed on the way down. The top steps no longer squeaked as they should have.

Not sure if she was being watched at the moment, she dropped the key onto the stairs and bent to pick it up to explain the extra time she was spending there, then moved on into the house as though nothing was wrong.

She locked the door behind her, checked the house again, and moved to Steve's room. After knocking and announcing herself, he opened the door. "Are we good?" he asked.

For a moment, she thought about saying all was well, not wanting him to worry. But she had promised to be honest with him. "No," she said. "Someone fixed the stairs."

He looked confused for a moment. "What? Wait, you mean the stairs you made squeaky on purpose?"

"Yes," she said. "Someone has been watching us long enough to know that would be an obstacle to sneaking in."

Steve nodded grimly, looking less nervous than she would have thought. "When would they have done that?" he asked. "We hardly ever leave the house. Even when we're outside, we're where we can see it."

Peggy considered a moment. "We walked all the way down to Maureen's after lunch today," she reminded him. "To borrow eggs. That would have put us out of sight of the house." She thought a moment longer. "It had to have been then. The only other time we've been away was on Monday when we went for groceries, and I'd've noticed the steps being fixed by now if it had happened then. I check them every night when we walk after dinner."

"You do?"

"Yes. They squeaked yesterday."

Steve nodded. "Okay. So, what now?"

Peggy looked around. "It isn't quite dark, yet. Whatever happens, it will be once it's fully dark." She looked back at Steve. "I think you're going to need to spend the night in my room."

Steve blushed and nodded and said very little. Peggy checked in with Phillips as she usually did, mentioning in code that they were being watched. Phillips acknowledged that, was careful with what he said, and told her to check back when she had it sorted—they were too far away from any help for him to send backup.

They went to bed then, and Peggy had an incredibly frustrating, yet rather endearing argument with Steve about sleeping arrangements. He was far too much of a gentleman to presume they would share the bed, even though that was exactly what Peggy intended to do.

"It's very gallant of you to insist on sleeping on the floor," Peggy said. "But it entirely defeats the purpose of bringing you in here for safekeeping. Anywhere on the floor puts you between me and the door, which makes you a target. Therefore, you will be sleeping on the bed between me and the wall. That is the safest place for you, and puts me in the position of shielding you, which is my job."

"Peggy, I—"

"This isn't a time to worry about propriety, Steve. Our proximity to one another will simply be a matter of practicality, I assure you." She smirked. "I shall keep my hands to myself."

That shut him up, though he went red as a beet, and Peggy turned away and did not laugh. She continued not laughing, though it became more difficult, when they climbed into bed and he rolled as far away from her as he could, holding himself stiff as a board so as not to touch any part of her. It was terribly sweet, actually, if a bit ridiculous.

"Now," Peggy said, switching the lamp off. "I hope very much that I am wrong and this just turns out to be a rather awkward night for both of us. But, if I end up fighting someone in the middle of the night, as soon as I'm off the bed, you roll this way until you go off the edge and get under the bed, do you understand?"

"Uh huh," Steve said quietly. It would be the safest place for him, and Peggy wouldn't have to worry about shielding him and fighting someone off if he was out of the way.

Since she was on guard duty, Peggy allowed herself to slip into the half-sleep she'd perfected during the war. She would wake at the softest noise, which allowed her to at least get some rest, though she got none at all until Steve finally fell asleep and quit tossing. He relaxed as he fell asleep, and his arm fell off of where he was resting it on his stomach and brushed against her side. Peggy smiled, glad that he was sleeping at least, and patted his hand gently.

It was three hours after they went to bed that she heard it and was instantly awake. The floorboards in the hallway were making the same noise they made when Steve walked across them, which meant their attacker was either very small, or very light of foot. Peggy smacked Steve urgently in the side, and he woke up with a bleary, "What?"

"Shh," Peggy whispered, keeping her eyes on the door. "They're in the hallway."

Steve went still beside her, and Peggy tightened her finger on the gun she'd pulled from under her pillow. The door opened slowly, and Peggy waited until it was all the way open, the figure framed in the doorway, then she fired.

The shot echoed loudly in the room and Steve yelped in surprise behind her, but it hit its mark, striking the intruder in the chest and dropping them to the floor. For a long moment, no one moved, then Peggy sat up and flicked the lamp on. "Stay here," she ordered Steve, getting carefully to her feet. She took a couple of steps closer to the prone figure on the floor, then turned and gestured for Steve to get under the bed. The man on the floor was still breathing, and not the pained, ragged gasps of someone who'd suffered a chest wound. That meant a bullet-proof vest and an assailant who was just waiting for her to get closer.

Peggy raised her gun again, having no intention of getting close enough for the man to strike, but he rolled forward as she fired again, dodging the bullet and springing up and kicking at her. They exchanged several fierce blows, the man pressing forward as hard as he could in the direction of the bed. Peggy punched and kicked and ducked, managing to get another shot off and hitting him in the foot, which certainly seemed to anger him, and it slowed him down a little.

Peggy kicked him hard in the gut, and he doubled over, but instead of jumping back up, he kept going down, hitting the floor and rolling away from her feet. She caught a flash of metal as he pulled out a gun of his own, firing not at her, but staying flat and aiming underneath the bed in Steve's direction. She fired again, and this time the bullet caught the man where the bullet-proof vest did no good, right between the eyes. There wasn't any shamming death this time, but she kicked his gun away from his hand out of habit.

She hadn't heard the other man's gun go off, but she still spun back to bed worriedly. "Steve?"

There was a silence just long enough to be concerning, then Steve muttered, "M'okay."

She let out a sigh of relief as he crawled out from under the bed. He stood up on shaky limbs, and she moved forward to steady him. "Are you alright?"

"Uh…" He seemed to be having more trouble staying upright, then he slumped against her and his eyes fluttered shut.

"Steve!" Had he been hit after all? Had he just fainted? She moved her hands to keep her grip on him and felt something lodged in the back of his shirt. She looked and saw that he had been shaking not from nerves, but from the small tranquiliser dart embedded in the back of his shoulder. Of course. A tranquiliser gun wouldn't be as loud as a regular one, and it was a far safer method of apprehending Steve than risking shooting him and losing all the information he had stored in his head.

Peggy removed the dart and moved him to lie down on the bed. She checked his pulse, and after assuring herself that it was at an acceptable resting rate and not slowing down any further, she stood up and picked up her gun again.

She knelt and checked for their attacker's non-existent pulse, then moved to secure the rest of the house. She found a little pot of hinge grease just inside the front door, explaining how he had bypassed the creaky doors. There was no one in the rest of the house, and no sign of anyone outside, so she moved back in and locked up, checked on Steve again, then went into the bathroom and took down the shower curtain, rolled the attacker's body on top of it, and dragged him into the bathroom and into the shower. She couldn't dispose of the body until it was safe to leave Steve, but at least it wouldn't make a mess in here. She went through his pockets, finding a sophisticated little lockpick set, answering the other question of how he got in, a set of keys to a vehicle he must have intended to carry Steve to, since she hadn't seen one outside, and nothing else.

She washed up and went to the radio, sending Phillips a quick message that the attack had been thwarted, and that Steve was safe, if unconscious. She promised a more detailed update later, and returned to her bedroom, where Steve was still fast asleep. He was wheezing a bit, so she got back into bed, propped up some pillows so she could lean on the wall, and sat back and pulled him up to lean against her chest. The angle and the elevation seemed to ease his breathing, and Peggy smiled and settled more comfortably against the wall. She put one hand on Steve's chest to monitor his breathing and heart rate, and allowed herself to fall back into that state of half-sleep again, relaxing along with Steve's steady breathing.

She woke the next morning to find herself and Steve somewhat more horizontal than when she'd fallen asleep. She smiled sleepily. He felt rather nice in her arms, and she thought it might be pleasant to do this sort of thing more often, in less perilous circumstances, of course. That was a terribly inappropriate way to think about her assignment, however, and she stopped herself before allowing that line of thought to go any further.

Steve shifted and blinked groggily, coming awake and staring at her hand on his chest in confusion. Then he blinked bloodshot eyes up at her, realized he was resting in her arms, and went red as a tomato. Peggy was pretty sure his hair was blushing.

"Um…" he said.

"How are you feeling?" Peggy asked, tugging him back a bit to sit up against the pillows, then sitting up away from him.

"Like you should be peeling me off the floor of a bar," he croaked. He swallowed nervously. "What…"

"You were hit with a tranquiliser dart," she explained. "I think the dosage was too high for your weight, so it was giving you a bit of difficulty breathing. I was propping you up so you could get air in easier," she elaborated, assuring him that his waking up in her arms was in no way the result of any untoward behaviour on his part.

"Oh," he said, the red in his cheeks fading somewhat. He drew in a deep breath as though taking stock. "Thanks."

She smiled. "You're welcome. Is your head hurting you terribly?"

"Yeah."

"Wait here a moment and I'll go fetch you something." She dug through the medical kit, pulling out something for a headache, as well as a remedy for nausea, remembering the way Steve had clutched at his stomach as she walked away. She took him the medicine and a large glass of water, which he accepted gratefully. "Why don't you stay here and sleep it off a bit longer?" she said.

"I c'n sleep in my room," he protested.

She smiled. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Six?" Steve guessed.

"Try halving that," she said, still smiling. "I don't think you should be walking anywhere."

"Okay."

His eyes were already shut anyway, so Peggy rested a hand on the side of his face, brushing his hair back. She kept on brushing her fingers through his hair until he was asleep again, then sat there beside him for a moment before getting up and going to see about breakfast.

When Steve woke up the second time, he was much more coherent, though he still looked as though he'd had a long night of pub-crawling. He insisted he felt better, though, and he was moving steadily enough that Peggy believed him.

"I think I just need a shower," he said.

"Yes, well, we might want to remove the dead body first."

He blanched a little. "There's a dead guy in the shower?"

"I didn't have anywhere else to put him," Peggy explained. "It's far easier to clean up than the wooden floor."

"Sure," Steve nodded.

They wrapped their would-be attacker up in the shower curtain, checked to make sure no one was about outside, then carried him down the stairs and into the boat waiting under the house. It was high tide, so it was easy to get the boat into the water quickly. They sailed out until they couldn't see the houses anymore, then pushed him quickly over the side. Peggy had been watching Steve very carefully, and he didn't speak the whole way out or back in, though he made it until they were halfway back to shore before he threw up.

"Are you alright?" she asked after they landed and put the boat away. She knew people reacted to dead bodies in different ways.

"Uh huh," he said. "I just dumped a dead guy out of a boat. Like the mafia. That's…unsettling for reasons I can't quite articulate." He drew in a deep breath. "I don't think I can use that shower without bleaching it within an inch of its life, so I'm gonna go take a bath."

He went part of the way up the stairs, then turned and looked back at her. "Oh, and I got a flash off the dead guy when I saw his face. His name was Joel Robinstone. He was Hydra, but worked for the FBI." He turned around and walked back into the house.

Steve spent a very long time in the bath. Peggy stayed outside for a while, returning the stairs and doors to their former squeakiness. Then she went in and cleaned up in her room, straightening the overturned furniture and digging the bullets out of the floor.

Steve was very quiet the rest of the afternoon, and Peggy wasn't sure if it was because of the break-in and the tangible proof that there really were people trying to get him, or if it had been the boat and the disposing of the corpse that had upset him. She felt as though she should apologize, but she wasn't quite sure for what.

"Hey, Peggy?" he said halfway through chopping up vegetables for dinner. "I never said thank you for what you did last night."

"Oh, you don't need to—"

"Yes, I do," Steve said. "You kept me safe. It was…Well, it was kind of terrifying, but I still trusted you to do it." He smiled. "Thank you."

She smiled back, touched at his trust in her.

"It was amazing watching you go head to head with that guy," he added. "I've never seen anybody fight like that." Peggy was immensely gratified that he had said 'anybody' and not 'a girl'. His smile widened a bit. "I'll bet you were dynamite during the war."

She smiled, pleased at the praise, though she found herself blushing at the same time.

His face grew serious again. "And I'm sorry I'm…" He rubbed at the side of his head. "I'm okay, but I still feel a little out of whack after whatever that was he shot me up with, but that isn't really an excuse for being all moody this afternoon. I'm sorry."

"Steve, that's alright," she said. "This was all outside your normal realm of experience. It does take some getting used to."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I just…Well, that thing I said earlier about the mafia…I know that you're used to this kind of thing, but I wasn't trying to imply that you…I mean, I didn't mean to say…I feel like, like ignoring you all afternoon, and then saying that this morning, that it sounded like maybe I think, well…less of you or something for being used to that kind of stuff. But I don't. If anything, I, I'm impressed with you even more with how level-headed you handled this whole thing. You're pretty amazing, and I'm sorry if I implied that—"

Peggy leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek, and he stopped talking abruptly and dropped his knife into his pile of green beans. "Thank you," she said softly.

He was gaping at her, but he nodded.

"I'm sorry you had to go through all of this," she said. "And I remember what it was like, going through this sort of thing for the first time. I wasn't offended," she assured him. She smiled warmly. "And I'm glad you're alright."

He smiled back, and there didn't seem to be anything else to say, so they returned to their chopping. The silence was much easier now, though.

After dinner, they went for a walk in the cool of the evening. Steve didn't seem particularly keen, but he said he didn't see much point in worrying himself into staying inside all the time either, which Peggy thought was an admirable way to look at things. They passed Maureen and Muffin as they walked, stopping to chat and discovering that Muffin had been ill the night before. Something slipped into her food, no doubt, to allow Mr. Robinstone a quieter approach. Back inside, they finished the day with a game of Scrabble, and though Peggy did beat him about half the time, as soundly as she beat him tonight told her that Steve was still a bit preoccupied.

She checked in with Phillips, did her usual sweep of the house, and went to bed. She slept a bit uneasily, but the morning came without incident. Steve had gotten up early and bleached every surface of the bathroom so thoroughly that they had to eat breakfast out on the porch while the smell cleared. They went into town to pick up groceries and a new shower curtain, and things returned to normal fairly quickly after that.

Over the course of the next month, they had two more security incursions. Both were handled efficiently and without injury, though after the last one, Steve asked if the frequency of the visits they were getting meant they were going to have to move. Peggy posed the question to Phillips, who decided they should remain where they were for the time being—three people finding them over seven weeks wasn't bad, and since the intelligence community at large still believed them to be dead, it was safer not to move. He did arrange for Howard to fly by and drop a package containing an increased array of weaponry, however.

Steve's birthday also came as they moved into July, and he seemed incredibly surprised that Peggy knew when it was, and that she made a cake for him. When she brought it out after lunch with a couple of candles stuck in the top, he stared at it for long enough that Peggy started to wonder if she'd made some sort of mistake.

"Is it alright that I did that?" she asked. Perhaps he wasn't particularly fond of birthdays.

"No, it's great," he said, looking up from the cake and smiling at her. It might have been just the light, but were his eyes watering just a bit? "I just wasn't expecting it," he explained. "This was…" His smile softened. "That was really thoughtful of you."

"Well, it didn't seem right to have a birthday without cake," Peggy said, smiling and cutting him a slice. "I'm sorry you're not getting to celebrate it as you normally would, stuck out here with me."

He waved her apology away. "I don't get to do much celebrating on my own anyway. And there are worse people to be stuck with."

That night, there was a firework show over the town along the coast, and they sat out in the sand and watched it. "You know, when I was little," Steve said. "My ma always told me they did the fireworks for my birthday." It was hard to tell in the changing lights, but Peggy thought he might be blushing. "It took me longer than it should have to realize that wasn't quite the case."

Peggy smiled. "I think it's rather lovely. It's certainly a nice way to end up the celebration." She reached over and squeezed his hand. "Happy birthday, Steve."

It was something of a surprise when Peggy realized they'd been out here for two months. If you'd told her back in Jack's office that she was going to be on this assignment for this long, she would have imagined herself crawling the walls by this point. It had actually been rather nice, occasional break-in and attempted kidnapping aside. Speaking of which, it had been about two weeks since anything had happened, and Peggy was starting to wonder if they weren't due for another visitor. When it happened, however, it was far from what either of them were expecting.

A summer storm had blown up, and while the cooler air was nice, Peggy was a bit more on edge, as the heavy rains made it impossible to see or hear much of anything going on beyond the house. The power kept going out as well, which did happen in a storm, but only served to make her warier. Steve, for his part, didn't seem to mind—he said the rain was soothing, and it was relaxing reading by candlelight.

"No point in me worrying over stuff I don't know what to do with," he said. "You know way better than I do what to look out for. You tell me to jump up and hide in the closet, I'll do it, but I'm not just going to sit here worrying until then." He smiled. "I trust you."

Peggy smiled back, relaxing a bit herself at his words. "Thank you," she told him. "You know, I have to say, you're much easier to protect than other cases I've worked. Everyone will seem to insist that I'm overreacting and they can handle themselves."

Steve chuckled. "Well, I know full well that you are way more competent than I am. I'm glad I can make your job easier."

She laughed at that, and took a break from her pacing of the house to sit with him and have a cup of tea.

It was an hour or so later that Peggy heard the sound of feet on the stairs over the rain. "Well, that's bold of them. It's barely seven-thirty," she said. All their other attackers so far had waited until they'd been in bed. "Closet," she told Steve.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, already getting up. They'd discovered the weapons compartment in the hall closet was actually large enough to hide in. Steve could unlatch it from the inside if he needed to get out, it was in a place that would take some searching to find if one wasn't familiar with the house, and Peggy preferred the guns spread out and hidden around instead of locked in one place anyway.

Peggy pulled the shotgun out from under the sofa and moved to unlock the front door. "That's far enough," she told the shadowy figure reaching for the screen door to the porch. Somewhat to her surprise, the figure stopped. That was surprisingly easy. Unless there was more than one of them and this one was just keeping her attention. "Hands on your head," she said.

"Can I at least come on to the porch?" the figure asked, complying with her order. "It's really wet out here."

Peggy's eyebrows furrowed in bemusement. She'd heard that voice before.

"Come on, Carter," the man said. "I'm not here to hurt anybody. And if I was, I know better than to come just knock on the front door."

Peggy took one hand off the shotgun and flicked on the porchlight.

"You could look a little happier to see me," the man said when she didn't lower the gun.

"I might if I didn't know for a fact that you died in Switzerland in 1945," she replied, staring into the face of her old teammate from the war.

"Never found a body, though, did you?" he said with a grin she remembered. "Look, I promise I can explain, but can I come inside?"

"Very well," she said. "The porch but no further."

"Thank you," he said. He stepped inside and shook his head in a way that reminded Peggy of a large dog, drops of water flinging everywhere. His hair was rather longer than she remembered it being, and he was thinner than he had been and resembled nothing so much as a drowned rat at the moment, but unless Hydra had worked out how to clone people, it was definitely her long-lost second-in-command.

"I have a lot of questions," she said.

"Fair enough," he replied, not seeming bothered by her suspicion. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

"I suspect how you're alive is a long story, so let's start with how you knew I where I was and what you're doing here."

He nodded. "Howard told me you were here," he said simply. "And as to why, I know who you're protecting."

Peggy stiffened, tightening her grip on the gun just a bit. "You do?"

He nodded. "Erskine's database. I'm the one that sent it to him."

Peggy studied him for a long moment. She was inclined to trust him because she knew him, but the circumstances were still suspicious. "Stay here," she said at last. "If you move at all while I am gone, I will shoot you."

"Yes, Ma'am," he said.

Peggy moved quickly to the hall to fetch Steve. If her old comrade had worked with Erskine, as he claimed, Steve would be able to flash on him. The results of that would tell her if she could trust him, or if she needed to shoot him anyway.

She explained quickly to Steve what was going on, and told him to stay behind her as they moved back to the porch, just in case things went wrong.

"Alright, Steve," she said, rounding the corner and gesturing to the porch. "This is—"

" _Bucky_?!" Steve exclaimed, stepping out from behind her.

"Hey, Stevie," the other man said, smiling warmly.

"Steve, do you know him?" Peggy asked.

Steve walked around her, ignoring her, and took several steps closer to the man whose name she was fairly certain was James. "You're alive," Steve breathed, reaching out a hand and stopping just shy of touching the other man.

"Yeah," said Sergeant Barnes, or 'Bucky', it would seem. He looked up at Peggy. "So, can I come the rest of the way inside now, Carter?" he asked. "I'm really cold and wet."

"Wait, you…Do you know her?" Steve asked.

"We worked together during the war," the Sergeant said. He looked back at Peggy. "And Steve and I grew up together."

The pieces clicked in Peggy's head. "This is your friend that died in Italy in 1943?"

Steve nodded.

Peggy looked at Barnes curiously. "Just how many times have you died, Sergeant?"

"What do you mean?" Steve asked.

Barnes sighed. "Alright, this wasn't exactly how I wanted to get into this, but…" He sighed again. "I didn't die in Italy in 1943," he said, looking at Steve. "I got captured, and I probably would have died if a team from the S.S.R. hadn't broken in and busted me out."

"Then why did they tell us you were dead?" Steve wondered.

Barnes sighed. "Because I told them to."

"What?" Steve breathed.

"The place kind of exploded as we were leaving, so it wasn't a big stretch. Once they got us out and patched up, me and some of the other guys were approached by Colonel Phillips. He told us all about Hydra, and told us he was putting together an incredibly off-the-books team to take them out. So off the books that Hydra wouldn't know we existed, and he was only taking people who were officially dead. So, if we wanted to join…"

Steve's face had gotten very hard to read. "You faked your own death?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Barnes said. "It…I had to."

"No, you didn't," Steve said softly.

"Steve, I had to stop them. If you had seen the kind of stuff they'd done, you'd understand why I did it," Barnes said.

"I have seen it," Steve said coldly.

"It wasn't supposed to be forever," Barnes explained. "I was going to come home once the war was over."

"And what?" Steve asked. "Tell everyone you'd been a P.O.W. the whole time?"

Barnes inclined his head in agreement.

Steve nodded sharply, letting out a soft huff of air. "So you were going to keep lying."

"Steve, I—" Barnes began, and Peggy could tell the remark had cut him.

"They told us you were dead!" Steve said, raising his voice. "Do you have any idea what that was like, getting that letter?"

"Steve, I'm sorry, I—"

"You're sorry? Oh, well, that makes it better, then," he snarled. "I lost the closest thing I ever had to a brother, but, yeah, you're sorry. That's fine." He glared at Barnes, and though all the hurt and anger in his face wasn't directed at her, it cut Peggy to see it. "Why don't you go home and tell your ma that?" Steve said coldly. "Tell her that all that pain she suffered was for nothing because you faked your own death, but you're sorry."

Barnes glowered back, and Steve had probably crossed a line by bringing his mother into it. "Leave my ma out of this," he warned.

"Fine," Steve said. "Oughta be easy since you already did it."

"You want to get all high and mighty about this?" Barnes snapped. "Because unless I'm mistaken, _you_ died in a plane crash two months ago. How is what you're doing right now any different?"

"How is it _different_?!" Steve replied, and Peggy didn't think she'd ever heard him sound so angry. He took a step closer to Barnes, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I'll tell you how it's different! It's different because there was nobody to notice I was gone until I didn't drop my rent check off with my landlord! I didn't have anybody to leave behind like you did! It's different because I went to your funeral! There wasn't even a casket—we had to bury a little box with your dog tags in it because they told us there weren't enough pieces of you to send home!" Furious tears were pooling in his eyes. "It's different because when my ma died, you told me I was never gonna be alone, because you were with me 'til the end of the line. Well, guess what? I've been riding that train by myself for four years! I've been on my own, and you—"

He stopped shouting and stepped up right in front of Barnes, glaring into his eyes, and drew in a deep breath. "It's different," he said quietly, cold as ice. "Because I didn't want for any of this to happen. Everything happened around me and I had to leave whether I wanted to or not. You…" He poked a finger into Barnes's chest. "You chose this. You could have come home, but you made this choice. _That's_ why it's different."

He held Barnes's gaze a moment longer, then spun on his heel and walked away. A few seconds later, Peggy heard the door to his room slam. She turned back to Barnes and sighed. "Well, that was nicely handled."

"Oh, don't you start," Barnes snapped. "You know good and well why I did it. And you know how hard it is to do."

"I do," Peggy said. She'd known Sergeant Barnes and the rest of her team—herself included—had all been officially dead. Once the war was over, they'd all been allowed to be 'resurrected' and return to their old lives, though it had taken some time for all the hurt feelings of those left behind to ease. She knew all that, but she hadn't ever known that this was a piece of his story. "But Steve doesn't," she reminded him.

Barnes's glare softened at that.

"All things considered, he's handling this whole upheaval of his life fairly well, but you can't act like this wasn't a blow." She smiled sadly. "He talks about you a lot, you know. So many of his stories have you in them. I never put it together that you were the friend he was talking about, because I don't think he ever called you anything but 'Bucky'. You mean a great deal to him."

Barnes sighed and slumped against the wall. "He's been like my little brother since we were, what, three years old?" He scrubbed a hand down his face. "It killed me thinking of him getting that letter. But I didn't know what else to do, Peg," he said, and there was a pleading tone in his voice.

"I know," she said gently. It had been a painful choice for all of them, but they had all seen first hand the horrors that Hydra had wrought. The chance to stop them…It had been a painful but necessary choice.

"It really was only supposed to be until the war was over," he insisted sadly. "I thought I could fix it."

"I think you still can," she said. "Just give him some time to cool down."

He nodded.

"What happened to you in Switzerland two years ago?" she asked.

"It's a long story," he said. "I'll tell it, but can I change into something dry first?"

Peggy led him inside and showed him to the third bedroom. The closets were packed with a variety of potential occupants in mind, so he should be able to find something that fit. Peggy went and made a new pot of tea. It was shaping up to be a long night.

Steve came back into the kitchen as the water was finishing. "Where is he?" he asked quietly.

"Changing," Peggy said. She set down the cups she'd been getting out. "Are you alright?"

Steve didn't answer for a moment. "Did you know?"

"Know what?" Peggy asked, but it was more a reflex than anything else. She knew what he meant.

"About Bucky," Steve said. He looked up and met her eyes. "You said you would always be honest with me."

There was something slightly accusatory in the way he said that, but Peggy supposed she couldn't blame him.

"No," she said. "I swear."

Steve looked at her for a moment, then nodded, the hardness in his face softening. "How do you know him, then?" he asked, not sounding angry, just confused.

"We worked together during the war," Peggy said. "From '43 until the spring of '45. I ran the team, and he was my second in command." She couldn't help a small smile at the spark of admiration in Steve's eyes at the declaration. "But it was the sort of team…It was very hard work we did. No one talked much about their personal lives. It was the sort of thing that you really felt you had to keep separate—keep it pure from what was going on with the war—if you were going to have any chance of returning to it afterwards."

Steve nodded, sympathy in his eyes, and also understanding what she was saying, that his name had never come up in conversation.

"And I never heard anyone call him Bucky," she went on. "Where did the name come from?"

"His middle name is Buchanan," Steve said. "Everyone called him Bucky because he used to hate it when people called him James."

"I think he still does," Peggy said. "I knew his first name was James, but he only ever wanted us to call him Barnes. Or Sergeant, if we were on duty." She smiled sadly. "I really never knew. I would have told you if I did."

Steve nodded. "Thanks." He helped her get the cups and everything ready. "You said you thought he was dead too?"

"I did. He was going to explain after he dried off."

Steve nodded again, still looking thoughtful. "If you led that team, then…You were officially dead too, huh?"

"I was," Peggy said. She wasn't sure how to explain beyond that without sounding as though she was defending Barnes's choice and minimizing Steve's hurt. He answered before she had a chance to figure it out.

"I'm sorry," he said, sympathy swimming in his eyes. "You, ah, you probably got a welcome home like the one I just gave him, didn't you?"

"A bit, yes," she agreed.

Fortunately, it had blown over quickly as joy that she was alive set in. She suspected that was what was about to happen here as well, and her suspicions were confirmed when they heard Barnes's door open down the hall and Steve's eyes darted over in that direction, color rising in his cheeks. "Could you…" Steve began. "Could you give me a minute with him?"

"Sure."

Steve moved to meet Barnes in the living room, and Peggy stayed in the kitchen. She could hear them when they started speaking, but thought it might make it more uncomfortable if she started making noise to drown out their voices—staying quiet would offer them all the illusion that she was too far away to hear.

"Hey, Buck," Steve began.

"Hey, Steve," Barnes replied tentatively.

"I'm sorry," Steve said bluntly, and Peggy couldn't help smiling. That was one of the things she'd really come to appreciate about him, that he was so willing to let go of his pride and apologize when he needed to, and that he was so genuine about it.

"I…" Steve continued. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. I'm still kind of mad at you, but…" A little waver worked its way into his voice. "I'm really glad you're not dead."

"Thanks, Stevie," Barnes said softly. "And I deserve for you to yell at me," he added. "It was low what I said back there, and I shouldn't have done it. And I don't want to sound like I'm making excuses for what happened in '43, but I really am sorry. It killed me to have to do that to you." There was a little waver in his own voice now.

"I've seen what Hydra did," Steve said quietly. "Not in person, but in here." Peggy could imagine him tapping the side of his head. "You were right to do whatever you had to to stop them. I would've done the same."

There was a smile in the huff of air she heard from Barnes. "You are now," he said.

There was motion and a muffled sort of grunting that Peggy imagined accompanied a manly hug. She gave them a few more seconds, then picked up the tea things and moved into the living room. "Everything alright?" she asked.

Barnes nodded, and Steve did too, smiling softly.

"So, you were going to tell us about Switzerland?" Peggy said, sitting down and picking up a cup.

Barnes's story lasted for a couple of hours and another pot of tea. On his last mission, right near the end of the war, they'd gone after Dr. Zola, one of Hydra's top scientists. He'd been on a train passing through the Swiss Alps, and during combat, Barnes had been thrown from the tracks. They'd never been able to find his body, but it was a fall he shouldn't have survived. And he almost hadn't—he had hit the ground alive, if only barely, but he wouldn't have stayed that way for long if he hadn't been found. The trouble was, he'd been found by Hydra. They had saved his life, and then spent the next year and a half running experiments on him and all the other people they'd captured in the course of the war. He'd managed to escape a few months ago, in January, and had been on the run since then, trying to make sure he was in the clear before he came home.

"I'm so sorry, Sergeant," Peggy said, feeling her voice catch in her throat. "We should have tried harder to find you." People came back to life often enough in her line of work that she wasn't as surprised as she might otherwise have been to see him, though she was, of course, very glad to see her old friend alive again. But eclipsing that joy now was a sick knot twisting in her stomach at the thought that she had failed to bring home someone she was responsible for.

"You didn't know," Barnes said. "I never blamed you for thinking I was dead. I shouldn't have survived that fall."

"How did you survive it?" she wondered.

He huffed a humourless laugh. "Caught on a tree branch on the way down." He nodded at his left arm. "Turns out losing an arm slows your momentum just enough to survive falling off a mountain. I don't recommend it, though."

"Losing an arm?" Steve asked softly.

Barnes nodded and pulled his sweater up and off, and Peggy and Steve both gasped. Barnes's arm, from halfway across his collarbone right down to the tips of the fingers he was pulling a glove from, was shining silver metal. He twisted his forearm and curled his fingers, and Peggy heard the faint hiss of hydraulics as the plates on the arm shifted and reshaped, mimicking the movement of muscles.

"What the hell?" Steve whispered.

"Yeah," Barnes agreed. "This was what most of the experimenting involved."

Steve reached out a hand, stopping just shy of touching his friend's forearm. "Buck, I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Barnes nodded his thanks. "It's not so bad," he tried to assure him. "Works pretty well. I've got a hell of a left hook now."

Steve huffed a surprised laugh, though he was still staring at the metal arm. Peggy had never seen anything like it, even with all the time she'd spent in Howard's lab. It was simultaneously horrifying and fascinating.

Steve's eyes travelled up the metal arm, and when they met the little red star carved into the top of the bicep, he gasped, and his eyes fluttered in the way they did when he flashed on something.

"Steve?" Peggy asked.

"The Winter Soldier," he muttered.

"What?"

"The Winter Soldier program," he said. "That's what they were doing to you. It…" He looked around. "Where's my book?"

Peggy picked it up from underneath the coffee table and handed it to him, along with his pencil, but he didn't start drawing. He flipped through the pages looking for something instead.

"What's the Winter Soldier program?" Peggy asked.

"That was the other thing they were experimenting with," Barnes said, putting his shirt back on. "It was sort of based on Erskine's Rebirth thing, with the super-strength and whatnot, but they were trying to make their own super-soldiers."

"And they tried it on you?" Peggy asked.

"Me and everyone else they caught."

"But even if it had worked, what made them think you would have fought for them?"

"It wasn't just bodies they were trying to change," Steve said, looking up from his book. "It was minds, too." He swallowed hard. "Mental conditioning. Brainwashing. Stuff like that." He tapped the book. "They had triggers and things that were supposed to turn it on."

A knot tightened in Peggy's stomach. "I see." She took a sip of her tea, darting her eyes to the shotgun propped against the side of the sofa. "And how do we know it didn't succeed with you?"

Barnes didn't look offended that she asked, but Steve sputtered, "Well, because he's here."

"That doesn't mean much," Peggy said. "Not if he's some kind of sleeper agent now."

"Peggy, after what they did to him—"

"It's okay, Stevie," Barnes said. "This is why she's in charge, because she thinks about things like this. And she should."

Steve's eyes widened. "But you…You're not…"

"No, I'm not. But she's right to be suspicious about it, because it's only my word. I've got no way to prove it to you."

It was a very tense moment as they all stared at one another, then Steve said softly, "I can."

They both looked at him. "How?" Peggy asked.

He nodded down at his book. "I flashed on it before, when we were talking about Hydra. They haven't been able to get the serum to work, same as Erskine, but the brainwashing works just fine. They always use the same words."

"Do it, then," Peggy said.

"I…"

"Go ahead, Steve," Barnes said. "It'll be okay."

Steve nodded slowly, then looked down at the book. Peggy picked up the shotgun and pointed it at Barnes, just in case.

"If it works," Steve said. "It'll turn on the programming and he'll do whatever I tell him to." He swallowed hard. "But I don't think it'll—"

"Just do it," Peggy said.

Steve nodded again. "Sorry, Buck," he said softly, then drew in a deep breath. "Longing," he said, surprisingly steadily. Nothing happened. "Rusted. Seventeen."

Barnes closed his eyes.

"Daybreak," Steve went on. "Furnace. Nine."

Barnes winced and rubbed at the side of his head.

"Benign." Steve's voice stayed steady, though he was looking more nervous as he watched Barnes. "Homecoming. One. Freight car." He drew in a deep breath. "Soldier?"

Barnes opened his eyes. "Nope," he said. He smiled and it was a little bit pained, but still genuine. "Still me."

Steve grinned in relief, and after a moment, Peggy nodded and lowered her shotgun. "Sorry," she said after a moment.

"Don't be," Barnes said. "You had to check. And really, Steve, I'm glad you trust me, but you should be more suspicious."

Steve was still smiling.

Barnes looked back at Peggy. "The arm took a while for them to get right. I got away before they made any headway on the brainwashing. Kind of gives me a headache, though, so if we could avoid that in the future…"

Peggy nodded.

"I don't quite understand, though," Steve said. "All this stuff in my head, it's from a database Erskine put together, right?"

Barnes and Peggy nodded.

"Why is this Winter Soldier stuff in there, then?" he asked. "If Erskine died before they started it?"

Peggy just managed to stop herself rolling her eyes at the expression crossing Barnes's face. "Oh, don't tell me he's alive too?"

"Well, not anymore," Barnes allowed. "Though he was until May. I was getting to that."

"Do you have to take a class on faking your death to get into the S.S.R. or something?" Steve wondered.

Barnes chuckled and then continued with his story. He'd been on the run from Hydra, and as things started to look as though they were in the clear, he'd checked in with a couple of his contacts. That had gotten him in touch with Erskine, who he learned _had_ faked his death near the end of the war when Schmidt sent some of his best assassins to target him. He'd continued gathering information for his database in secret, convinced that the knowledge inside it would help them stamp out Hydra once and for all. It was all packed onto his little device, safe, but inaccessible. The original plan had been to make the information do what it had done to Steve, a process Erskine called 'downloading', though it should have been available to more than one trusted S.S.R. agent at a time. But there was too much of it now for that to be a practical use, so he'd been designing a machine to contain it and make it readable, sort of like an electronic book.

The machine had still been in the design stage when Barnes found him. Unfortunately, Hydra was closing in on Erskine, having discovered that he was still alive. He was being watched, and knew that there was no way he would make it out this time, but he thought Barnes, who no one was expecting to be there, might be able to escape. He put the design of the machine into the database and locked it to self-destruct after a one-time use. With Hydra agents closing in, Barnes wouldn't have time to download the information and have his brain adjust to it enough to get away. He couldn't do it then, but they didn't want to take the chance that Barnes would get caught with the device on him either, so they mailed it to an address Barnes assured him would be safe. Evidently, Erskine had added an explanatory message in the event that someone else picked it up. Which someone did.

"Why did you mail it to me?" Steve wondered.

Barnes smiled apologetically. "Because I was supposed to be home by then. I was clear of Hydra, and it was safe for me to finally go home. I was going to be there when the package showed up, download it into my head, get the machine design to Howard, have him build it and get the stuff back out of my head, and then retire. I never…" He shook his head. "Something in the back of my head knew that if things went sideways and you got the package, I could trust you to handle it, but I never meant to do this to you, Stevie. I'm sorry."

Steve smiled. "It's okay. I'm doing alright." He shot Peggy a quick smile. "It hasn't been so bad."

Peggy smiled back, then turned back to Barnes. "What kept you from getting there on time?"

Barnes huffed a laugh. "Would you believe pneumonia? I know we used to complain about some of the conditions we camped in back during the war, but I take it all back. Being on the run sucks. I hadn't been eating or sleeping well since I got away, and it finally caught up to me. I got sick as a dog and could hardly move for two weeks without falling over or throwing up. By the time I was mobile again, well…" He waved a hand at Steve. "You know where the story goes from there. I've been trying to find you since then."

"Why not just go to Phillips?" Peggy wondered.

"Because I was supposed to be dead, and even though I knew _he_ was alright, I didn't know who around him was Hydra."

Peggy inclined her head in agreement. That was fair enough.

"You're still looking a little rough, Buck," Steve said, looking his friend over in concern. He did look tired and worn down, and when he'd removed his sweater to show them his shoulder, there'd been no ignoring how thin he was.

"Thanks," Barnes said with a laugh.

Steve smiled, but did not change the subject. "No, I mean it. You're gonna stay here with us for a while, right? We'll fix you back up."

Barnes smiled. "Yeah, I was planning on it. I'm tired of running."

Steve smiled. "Good."

With all questions answered for the moment, it was late, and they decided to go to bed, though Peggy wondered if any of them would sleep. Steve was up early the next morning when Peggy came into the kitchen, though Barnes was still asleep. She did remember from the war that he liked to sleep in when given the chance, and she imagined being on the run from Hydra was rather exhausting.

"Hey, uh, Peggy?" Steve said, not really looking up from the pancakes he was making. "I, uh, I'm kind of embarrassed about yesterday," he said, shooting her a quick glance, his cheeks flushing. Peggy must have looked confused, because he continued. "When I yelled at Bucky and everything. I…" He huffed an embarrassed laugh. "With the benefit of hindsight, I feel like I was acting like a little kid having a temper tantrum or something."

"Steve, it's alright," she assured him. "It was quite a shock. An emotional reaction like that isn't out of place."

Steve smiled gratefully, but still looked embarrassed. Peggy wasn't quite sure how to say that his outburst hadn't lessened her opinion of him, so she settled on resting a hand on his shoulder and saying, "You missed the part where I threatened to shoot him."

That earned her a surprised laugh and a more relaxed smile.

The rest of the day was spent inside—the mosquitos were out in full force after the rain—getting more details of Barnes's story and filling him in on what they'd been doing. They demonstrated more of how Steve's new ability worked, and decided Barnes should probably have a go at some point at seeing if anything he came up with resulted in a flash. The fact that there was a machine that should be able to get the information out of Steve's head was good news, and Howard could probably build it, but they had to find where in Steve's head the plans for it were hidden first of all, then figure out a way to get to Howard. They were safe enough where they were for the moment, but Howard was most likely being watched, and either his coming here or their going to him would be noticed.

Perhaps it was selfish of her, but Peggy found she didn't really mind that it might still be a while before this assignment ended. She liked it where she was, and she enjoyed living with Steve very much. Adding Barnes into the mix changed things, certainly, but not in any sort of way that made things more trying.

It was interesting watching the two of them as Barnes slowly slotted into their daily routine. There were several little quirks and mannerisms that they both seemed to pick up without noticing they'd done so—habits of an old life sliding back into place. They both seemed almost instantly at home with one another. There was a softness to Steve that everyone Peggy worked with had lost—a softness that came from goodness, not weakness, and she could see it working on Barnes the same way she'd realized it had done with her. Barnes really had meant it when he'd told her he thought of Steve as a little brother, and that softness of Steve's was bringing that side of him back out—a kinder, warmer side of him than she'd ever seen during the war.

Steve, for his part, seemed incredibly happy to have his old friend alive again, but he otherwise seemed unchanged. He didn't act any differently towards her now that Barnes was back, and it was with some surprise that Peggy realized Steve felt just as at home around her as he did with his friend of twenty-six years. She wasn't sure what she should do with that information, but she kind of wanted to give him a hug.

As Barnes acclimated in the days that followed, she went over the details of the security set-up with him, and he helped her keep an eye on things. He also worked with Steve and was able to uncover several more things about Hydra and specifics of some of their plans. Details were sent on to Phillips, of course, though for the moment, they were keeping Barnes's resurrection under wraps, just to be on the safe side.

It was a week and a half after Barnes arrived that they had a breakthrough. They had been getting some good information pieced together about Hydra, but Peggy remained concerned about Dottie and her distraction, and whoever her contact inside the S.S.R. was. Despite all the progress they'd made, they still hadn't managed to join those dots up. When it happened, they hadn't even been working on the database, but were just talking and telling stories from the war.

"We would have been sunk if those reinforcements hadn't arrived," Barnes recalled. "Lucky for us that President Truman had—"

"Aah!" Steve cried, clutching at the sides of his head with his hands and drawing his knees up until he was curled into a little ball.

"Steve?" Barnes asked worriedly.

"This is what happens when he has a really big flash," Peggy said, looking around for Steve's sketchbook.

"This happen a lot?" Barnes asked, sounding no less concerned as Steve started to rock back and forth and whimper.

"Not this badly," Peggy said, abandoning the search for the book and kneeling next to the sofa. "Steve?" she asked, resting a hand gently on his shoulder.

"Wait," he whimpered softly, so she did, wishing there was something she could do. After a couple more seconds, he exhaled and slumped bonelessly into the cushions of the sofa.

"Stevie, are you okay?" Barnes asked.

"Holy cow," Steve breathed. His eyes snapped open, alarm etched across every line of his face. "Holy cow!" He snapped his head around to look at Peggy. "What day is it?" he asked desperately.

"Um, August twelfth, I think," she said, looking at Barnes for confirmation. He nodded.

"Crap, oh, crap, we have to go!" Steve said, sitting bolt upright.

"Go?" Peggy asked. "Where? What happened? What did you see?"

"It's all in there," Steve exclaimed. "Hydra's plan! Erskine had all the information, but he couldn't see it because of how spread out it is! It's all in there, spread across thousands of files and communications, and—" He stopped and gasped in a lungful of air. "It's all in there; we have to—"

"Steve, where's your inhaler?" Barnes asked as he gasped again.

"Counter," Steve croaked, gesturing towards the kitchen.

Barnes jumped up and got the inhaler, and Steve spent a moment just breathing and pulling himself back together. "Sorry," he said after a minute. "That was a lot. But we really have to go."

"Why?" Barnes asked. "You never got to that part."

"Right. Um, like I said, their plan is all there, spread out across everything, but when you said Truman's name just now, it was like that was the last piece and everything just slammed together."

"Is the President Hydra?" Peggy asked.

"No," Steve said, shaking his head. "But he will be if we can't fix this. It's the election. That's what Dottie is trying to distract everyone from. She's got the S.S.R. focused on the Arena Club, which Hydra wants because they're getting too powerful and they're worried they're going to start going rogue. But their real play is the election next year. The FBI, CIA, all the intelligence organizations are starting to look at the Arena Club. And while they're doing that, lots of little things have been happening in Washington. Financial scandals, sex scandals, questionable war records appearing—Republican possibilities for running in the election are dropping like flies, all for reasons that happen all the time and don't raise flags. The only one who's going to make it out with enough standing to be nominated is Archie Callahan, and he's Hydra."

Steve took a deep breath and continued. "They've got the Democrat side tied up too—Truman's not Hydra, but his Vice President has a legitimate heart condition that's 'accidentally' going to get worse, and the next guy in line for the spot is Hydra. So, if Truman wins, well, I'm guessing he won't be around long enough to enjoy it much. The election can go on totally as normal and either way, Hydra will be in the White House come next November."

"Alright," Peggy said, taking a moment to take that all in. "Alright. This is bad, but this is fixable. The election is over a year away—there's time to get on top of this. Why is it important that it's the twelfth today?"

"Because all the nation's intelligence agencies are distracted right now, which is safe, but it's even safer to have them in your pocket," Steve explained. "They're starting with the S.S.R., turning people where they can and taking them out where they can't. They can't get to Phillips, not yet, so they're working their way up from the local unit chiefs. Jack Thompson is supposed to die tonight."

"Bloody hell," Peggy said, sitting back. Steve was right—they had to go now. There was no way of contacting Phillips in the middle of the day to let him know. "How in the hell are we going to get to New York before tonight?"

"We have to get a plane," Barnes said. "How far away are we from Charleston?"

"About half an hour in the boat," Peggy said.

"Gimme the keys," he said. "I know a guy; I can be back in an hour with a plane."

"Go," Peggy said, tossing them to him as he jumped to his feet. He was out the door in seconds, and Peggy turned back to Steve, who was rubbing the side of his head and wincing again. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he said. "I've never had one that big before."

"Do you need your book?"

"Yes, please," he said. "That was the gist, but there's a lot to write down."

Peggy handed him his sketchbook and got up to start packing. She gathered all the supplies she thought they would need into three backpacks, one for each of them. This sort of mission was more in line with the sort of thing she normally did, and she had a much better idea of what to pack this time.

She got Steve something to eat to help with his headache, and he chewed absently on the sandwich she handed him, sketching and writing frantically. He was still going when Barnes arrived with the seaplane, and Peggy walked him down the stairs while Barnes went inside to get the secure radio. Steve didn't look up from his book until halfway through the flight, and he seemed a little bit surprised not to be in the living room anymore.

They landed in New York and decided their best bet was to go to Thompson's apartment—Peggy and Steve were supposed to be dead, and waltzing into the S.S.R. office and blowing their cover seemed a bit premature. Knowing the late hours Thompson tended to put in, however, Peggy put in a call to Mr. Jarvis, briefly explained the situation, and asked him to contact Thompson saying he had a lead on Dottie but was worried about security and would meet Thompson at his home. Jack might not be overly fond of Howard Stark or his butler, but Peggy knew he would trust him enough to act on it.

They broke in easily enough, and Peggy and Barnes did a very thorough sweep of the place, coming up empty for bugs. Steve, meanwhile, started doing the dishes Jack had left in the sink. Steve couldn't abide by a dirty kitchen, and if he needed something to do with his hands until Jack got there, there wasn't any harm in it, though Barnes did tease him about it.

As Peggy had known he would, Thompson came willingly enough, and to his credit, he was properly suspicious about the whole thing. His gun was in his hand when he opened the door, and it was up and trained on her as soon as she moved.

"Don't shoot; it's me," she said, raising her hands.

Jack flicked on the light and stared at her in shock. "Carter?" he asked disbelievingly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, Jack," she said with a smile.

He seemed to realize he was still pointing his gun at her and lowered it. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"Officially, yes. That's why I didn't come to the office."

He nodded, taking that in. "Okay. What's going on? And who's that?" he asked, nodding at Barnes.

"Sergeant James Barnes, of the 107th," Peggy said. Barnes gave a little wave.

"The 107th…Where you worked during the war?" Jack asked. Peggy could see pieces clicking together in his head as he realized who Barnes was. "You're supposed to be dead too."

"See?" Steve said. "I told you this faking your death thing you guys keep doing isn't normal."

"Really, Steve? Now?" Barnes said, rolling his eyes.

Jack looked over at Steve, who had escaped his notice sitting over in the corner out of the way as per Peggy's orders. "And who are you?"

"Steve Rogers," Steve replied. "I'm technically supposed to be dead too, but not as voluntarily as these guys."

"Rogers," Jack mused. "Carter, this is the guy you got pulled off the Underwood case for?"

"Yes."

"What are you all doing in my apartment? And how many more of you are there?"

"Just the three of us," Peggy said. "And we're here to save your life."

"What?"

"Hydra's got a nice little murder schedule on the calendar," Barnes said. "And today's your day."

"Hydra?" Jack clarified. "Didn't they die with Schmidt?"

"Not as much as we would have hoped," Peggy said.

Jack sighed and rubbed his temple. "What the hell is going on?"

"Jack," Peggy began. "I know this is a lot."

"You think?"

"Jack, I promise we can explain it, but we need to get you somewhere safe first." Jack looked like he wanted to argue, so Peggy took a step closer. "Trust me, Jack."

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. You've got a hell of a lot of explaining to do, but okay."

She instructed him to grab anything important while Barnes checked to see if the coast was clear. They all went down the fire escape and into a back alley where a non-descript car with a very familiar driver was waiting.

"Hello!" greeted Mr. Jarvis cheerfully.

Jack groaned. "My life is about to get so much more complicated, isn't it?"

"Probably," Peggy said, not able to hide her smile entirely.

Jack shot her a sideways glare as they got into the car. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Well, not the part where Hydra is back is the picture," Peggy said. "But, yes, a little."

"If you weren't already dead, I'd fire you," he grumbled, and Peggy chuckled.

They drove to a nearby garage and switched cars, and the ride from there became a lot less comfortable as Steve, Peggy, and Jack had to ride in the trunk or compartments under the seats so they weren't spotted. Barnes was reasonably unrecognizable with his longer hair, and got to ride in the back seat. He wasn't _too_ overly gleeful about it.

Ideal butler that he was, Mr. Jarvis took his hidden passengers into consideration as he drove, and aside from being rather cramped, there were no other complaints Peggy could make about the smoothness of the drive. They unfolded themselves from their hiding places in the parking hangar of one of Howard's country homes.

They bustled inside quickly, and Mr. Jarvis, ever the perfect butler, insisted on showing them all to their rooms before getting down to business, then served them tea in one of the studies while he went to prepare dinner.

"Oh, cheer up, Jack," Peggy said. "Look at it this way—you get to be a guest of Howard Stark and take advantage of the luxury."

"I was promised an explanation, and right now all I have is a crick in my neck from riding in the trunk of a car for half an hour," he said. "Somebody needs to start talking."

Peggy let Barnes begin, starting with his explanation of the device and meeting with Erskine, then Peggy took over once the story reached her and Steve. Jack took most of it in stride, though he seemed incredibly skeptical about the database in Steve's head. That was fair enough, and Steve offered to demonstrate, but they had to come up with something he hadn't already flashed on.

"Try asking about something I wasn't involved in," Peggy said. "We've talked about most of my cases, so he can't flash on them again." Besides which fact, if Steve could flash on something she couldn't have told him about, it would be easier for Jack to believe.

"Alright," Jack said, still looking unconvinced. He thought for a minute, then looked up at Steve. "What do you know about Operation: Coyote?"

Peggy had never heard of it, but Steve stiffened, and his eyes did the drifting, fluttering thing that indicated a flash. Jack stared at him in confusion until Steve came back into the moment.

"May 18th, 1944," Steve said. "A small Allied team snuck into Tokyo to smuggle out a group of Japanese codebreakers who were defecting. The whole thing took place over one night. Seven codebreakers got out. Yamamoto got caught and died buying time for the rest of the group to get away. Everyone else made it to the harbor before the army caught up with them. There was a shootout getting onto the escape boat. All the codebreakers made it on board. Corporal Jonathan Marks was killed, and Corporals Eric Flynn and Levi Benson were wounded." He looked over at Thompson. "You got shot in the leg. It didn't hit any bones, but you almost bled out before you got back to the Navy ship waiting out at sea."

Jack was gaping by the time Steve was done. "Holy cow," he breathed. He slumped back in his chair, still staring at Steve in awe. "How the hell does that work?"

"We don't really know," Steve said. "But you believe us now?"

"Yeah," Jack said, still looking awed. He huffed and shook his head. "Wow. I can see why they'd want to keep an eye on you."

Mr. Jarvis came in then to announce dinner, and they adjourned the discussion to eat. Howard would be arriving in the morning, so they spent some time after dinner looking through the notes and drawings Steve had scribbled after his flash, trying to make more sense of Hydra's plan.

"I'm gone for four years, and you know, I think your handwriting got worse," Barnes commented, tilting his head as he attempted to decipher a page.

"You've been complaining about my handwriting since we learned how to write. You just like to gripe," Steve said.

"A literal chicken scratching could put words more legibly on a page than this," Barnes countered.

"Shut up," Steve complained. "It's not that bad. Peggy can read it."

"Really?" Barnes asked.

Peggy saw Thompson's eyebrow go up at Steve's addressing her as 'Peggy' without being corrected, but she ignored it and answered Barnes's question instead. "Yes. It could be better," she allowed, smiling as Steve frowned. "But it's perfectly legible."

Barnes smirked to himself and looked as though he wanted to say something, but just shook his head and returned to his reading.

"Hey, I know this guy," Jack said, picking up one of the drawings. "Walter Rich. What's he in the book for?"

"I don't know," Steve said. "He was a face I got during a big Hydra flash, but I don't know what he's connected to."

Jack let out a low whistle. "Well, I do. Guy's specialty is digging up dirt—dirt that's just dirty, not necessarily true. This is probably what's taking down all those presidential nominee hopefuls."

They went through several more pages before calling it a night. Peggy found she was so used to sleeping lightly, she had trouble sleeping well now that they were somewhere safe. She still got up a couple of times in the night to walk the halls and just listen out for trouble.

Howard arrived the next morning, and after introductions, explanations, and finding something that Steve could flash on so he could see it, he disappeared to his lab and they didn't see him again until the evening. Jack called in sick to the office, and they spent the rest of the day going through intel and then talking with Phillips, who showed up after lunch.

Howard emerged after dinner, having invented something clever and eager to run tests on Steve and his brain. Peggy convinced him to wait until morning, after he and Steve both got some rest.

The next morning brought news from Phillips' network that Thompson's apartment had been broken into, and people were starting to look for him. Hydra was getting suspicious that their target wasn't where it should be.

In Howard's basement lab, he showed them the device he had built for testing Steve's ability. It was fairly unimpressive looking—a chair with some wires attached to a bank of monitoring equipment.

"I don't suppose I could convince you to shave your head?" Howard asked as he settled Steve into the chair and attached one of the leads to his temple.

"I would prefer not to," Steve said.

Howard nodded. "I can work around it." He continued adding leads to Steve's head and neck, taping them down until Steve looked like some sort of electric hedgehog.

"What exactly is this going to do?" Steve asked.

"Well," Howard began, fiddling with some of the dials on the monitoring equipment. "Before I can figure out how to get any of that out, I need to know how it works. So, I'm going to take lots of readings of what your brain does when you have a flash thing. That should tell me where stuff is located. Then I can build a map, and hopefully figure out how to activate specific pieces of it on command."

"Okay."

"Seeing as you built this in less than a day, is it safe?" Barnes asked, crossing his arms and eyeing the machine skeptically.

"Of course it's safe," Howard said, offended.

"Howard, it's a more than reasonable question," Peggy pointed out. She'd been wondering the same thing.

"Yeah, alright," Howard allowed. "It's not doing anything to his head, just watching while it does its own stuff. It won't hurt him. The worst that can happen is that it doesn't work."

He made a few more adjustments, then settled in to try to get a flash out of Steve. They knew there was a lot more in there, but without knowing what it was, it was getting harder to find the right words or phrases. It finally occurred to Howard to find the box of photographs of his inventions that the S.S.R. had had in their lab last year, and that seemed to do the trick.

Peggy, Barnes and Thompson moved to a corner of the lab to continue working, leaving Steve and Howard to their testing. As it drew nearer to lunch time, Peggy got up to see if they were ready to stop, then hurried the rest of the way across the lab. "Howard, stop!" she called. Steve was sitting where he had been all morning, his eyes fluttering like they did during a smaller flash, but they weren't stopping, and his nose was starting to bleed.

Howard looked up from his equipment, yelped in alarm, and started pressing buttons.

"Steve?" Peggy asked, crouching by the chair and putting her hands on his shoulders. "Steve?"

"Nnh," he groaned, shaking his head heavily.

"That's it, come on," she encouraged. "Come back."

His eyes stopped fluttering and he blinked at her blearily. "Peggy?" he mumbled.

"I'm here. It's alright," she said.

"What the hell, Stark?!" Barnes snapped from somewhere behind her.

"No, it's okay," Howard began.

"This is not okay!" Barnes growled.

"No, I mean, I didn't break anything," Howard insisted. "This is all good," he went on, gesturing at the monitoring equipment as if Barnes knew how to read it. "We just went too long. It's like a muscle cramp from exercising too hard. A brain cramp."

"S'goin' on?" Steve asked.

"We've just discovered what happens when you flash too much too quickly," Peggy said. "Are you alright?"

"Head hurts."

Peggy turned to Thompson. "Go and find Mr. Jarvis and see if he's got anything for a headache." Thompson nodded, and she turned back to Steve. "Steve, look at me," she said, putting her hands to the sides of his face. He did, and he looked dazed and in pain, but his pupils were even and reacting as they should, and his nose had stopped bleeding. Peggy trusted Howard's diagnosis (mostly), but a knot of worry was still coiled tightly in her stomach. "Tell me your name," she said.

"Steve Rogers."

"What year is it?"

"1947."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Stark's basement. Testin' my head for database stuff."

"Do you know who that is?" she asked, pointing at Barnes.

"S'Bucky," he said. "S'a jerk who's not dead."

Barnes laughed in spite of himself at the statement, and a tiny smile broke through the pain on Steve's face.

"And me?" Peggy asked.

Steve's smile softened and got wider. "Peggy," he said. "Keepin' me alive." His head was starting to loll on his shoulders, and Peggy suspected if she let go, it would flop over to the side. "Y're good at it," he went on. "An' y're good at Scrabble. An' makin' cake."

Peggy smiled. "Well, it would seem your memory's alright," she said.

"Told you," Howard huffed.

Peggy ignored him. "Let's get you upstairs where you can rest."

"Mmm," Steve agreed.

Howard unhooked all the leads of the machine, then Barnes helped her get Steve up on his feet, and together they walked him to the elevator, and then down the hall to his room. They met Thompson along the way and got the medicine for Steve's headache. In Steve's room, Barnes helped her move him to the bed, then gave her a smile she couldn't quite interpret and left.

"Thanks," Steve muttered, sinking down into the pillows.

"You're welcome," Peggy said. She sat down beside him. "I'm sorry. I know how Howard can get carried away, and I should have checked in earlier."

"S'okay," Steve said, smiling at her sleepily. "Hey," he added, flopping an uncoordinated hand on the blanket and brushing against hers. "Know what else y're good at?"

"What's that?" she asked with a smile.

"Bein' a good roommate. S'nice, livin' with you," he slurred, his eyes sinking closed. "I like you."

Something fluttered in Peggy's chest and a warm smile crept across her face. She stroked a hand along the side of his face and brushed his hair back. "I like you too, Steve," she said softly.

He made a contented little humming sound and let his eyes close the rest of the way. Peggy sat there for a little while until she was sure he was asleep, then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead almost before she realized that's what she was doing.

Barnes was waiting for her in the hallway. "He okay?" he asked as she shut the door.

She nodded. "Just worn out, I think." He nodded back and they started walking back to the lab. "Why are you looking at me like that?" Peggy asked, catching another one of those looks he'd given her before he'd left Steve's room.

He smiled. "Nothing." He nodded back in the direction of Steve's room. "I just think it's nice."

Peggy's eyes widened as she realized what he was implying. "Sergeant Barnes," she began.

"I know, I know, he's your responsibility and you're just taking care of him," he said. He smirked. "That's totally the same way you used to look at me or Dugan when we got hurt during the war."

Peggy glared, and his smile widened.

"I think it's great," he said, all teasing gone from his voice.

They ran into Jack waiting for the elevator and changed the topic, but Peggy held on to Barnes's words to mull over.

Steve slept for the rest of the day and seemed hesitant the next morning to jump back into Howard's chair for some more testing. Both Peggy and Barnes stepped in and put their feet down, telling Howard in no uncertain terms to let it be. Howard grumbled until Peggy pointed out that he had all the data from yesterday's tests to analyze, and he was happily diverted.

"So, how long are we going to stay cooped up in here?" Jack asked. They were sitting around the dining room table, papers and notes and charts spread out across the large surface. "We're running out of things to do from here," he added.

"He's got a point," Barnes said. "We can't exactly run down leads from the dining room."

"No," Peggy agreed. "Are we ready to tip our hand, though? Going back into the S.S.R. reveals that the three of us are still alive," she said, drawing a circle in the air to indicate herself, Steve, and Barnes. "And it puts a target back on your back, Jack," she said.

"True," Jack allowed. "But nobody's going to shoot me inside the S.S.R. office."

"They could kill you without shooting you," Steve said, looking up from whatever he was sketching. "One of their ideas to get you earlier was to take you out in the elevator of your apartment building. 'Mechanical failure' and a seven-story drop."

Jack grimaced. "So, I'll take the stairs." He looked around the table. "I know you three are banking on being dead, so I could go in on my own. There are resources in there that can help us, so I'm willing to take the risk."

"You're not going in alone," Barnes argued. "If nothing else, I'll go with you. I don't look like I did last time anybody around here saw me anyway. But Carter and Steve should stay here."

"I think I should go too," Steve said.

Barnes looked ready to argue, but Peggy thought she saw where he was coming from. "There's all sorts of things he could flash on in the office. If we're incredibly lucky, he might be able to tell if anyone in there is Hydra. Even if that doesn't happen, he could learn an awful lot in the archive room."

Steve nodded, agreeing with her assessment, and Jack inclined his head, considering the point. Barnes still looked doubtful. "Hydra wants to take him," he reminded them. "And Hydra is in the S.S.R. We can't just waltz him in there!"

"Hydra _is_ in the S.S.R., but they're not showing their cards yet," Peggy pointed out. "Whoever their agents are would blow their cover for good trying to grab him from the office in broad daylight."

"Sure," Barnes allowed. "But we're still letting everyone know he's alive. What's to stop them following us here?"

"Nothing," Peggy admitted. "We'll have to be ready to move again afterwards, but it's not as though we could go on staying at Howard's without being noticed sooner or later. It's about time we moved anyway."

"She's kept me alive this far," Steve pointed out. "And now I've got you. And Agent Thompson," he added, as though he wasn't entirely sure if Thompson was officially part of the protection detail. "I'll be okay. I think we need to do this, Buck."

And so it was that they loaded themselves back into one of Howard's cars—everyone got to ride in a proper seat this time—and headed for the S.S.R. office. "Now, remember, Steve," Barnes said as they got out of the vehicle. "You don't go anywhere in there on your own. You're with one of the three of us the whole time."

Steve sighed. "I know. We've been over this eight times. I know I'm not a secret agent, but I'm not five. I heard you the first time."

They hurried inside, and Peggy did have to hand it to the 'phone company ladies' at the front desk, because while there were several raised eyebrows at her appearance, no one made any comments, merely hitting the buzzer and letting them through.

"Chief!" Abernathy exclaimed, looking up from his desk. "Hey, you're back. We thought you were sick."

"Well, I'm better now," Jack said, looking around the office. "Where's Sousa?"

"Following up a lead downtown."

"Alright." Jack nodded. "Until he gets back, then, you are second in command."

Abernathy tried not to look too pleased with the temporary promotion.

"I need you, Parker, Flannigan and Alvarez in my office," Jack said, waving at Abernathy to go collect the men he'd named. "Five minutes."

"Yes, Sir," Abernathy said, getting up from his desk. "Um, and Carter?" he began, clearly hoping for an explanation as to her resurrection.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Abernathy. Carter's dead," he said.

"Yes, Sir," Abernathy replied, understanding what he shouldn't be saying, though he was still undeniably curious.

"You're enjoying being in charge again, aren't you?" Peggy asked after Abernathy walked away.

Jack merely chuckled in response. "Why don't you two head on down to the archives?" he said, pointing at her and Steve. "Don't make yourself too obvious, but try to look at as many faces as you can on the way," Jack told Steve. "Barnes, you going with them or with me?"

"I'll stick with you," Barnes said. He and Jack headed for the Chief's office, discussing what they could safely share and what the best leads would be to start with, and Peggy directed Steve down the hall.

"Is telling that guy you're still dead really supposed to keep Hydra from noticing us?" Steve wondered.

"It was an order for him to keep his mouth shut," Peggy explained. "It's unlikely we'll get out of here with no one but Abernathy knowing I was in, but it won't hurt." She looked at him curiously. "No flash on him?"

Steve shook his head, doing his best to peer discreetly into windows as they passed and catch faces. They made it into the elevator without Steve flashing on anyone, so they went into the archive room and got to work.

Steve had been right—there was loads to learn in here. He flashed on file after file as they worked their way through the alphabet, Peggy taking copious shorthand notes as they did. They were interrupted briefly by Barnes coming in to see if there had been any flashes on the personnel files they'd gone through first—he'd gotten several informational flashes like he had with Peggy, but as to Hydra, it was negative on all counts. That didn't necessarily mean there was no Hydra in this office, though. Steve _had_ said he didn't have a name or a face for Dottie's contact. After that, they dove back in, and there were names and words and pictures that brought up things from the war, more assassination plots, and bits and pieces and schemes that, had Peggy taken the time to properly process, would have frightened her at the length of Hydra's reach.

"Do we need to take a break?" Peggy asked after a couple of hours. Steve was wincing a lot more and rubbing at the sides of his head.

He shook his head. "I think this falls into the category of 'a time to wear yourself thin for the job'," he said, giving her a brief smile. "I'll probably crash when this is over, but I've got this."

"Alright," Peggy said, smiling in understanding and resting a hand on his shoulder. If they could do this all in one go, they could get Steve back out of sight and to another safehouse before things got dangerous. She flipped to a clean page in her notebook. "Next?"

They carried on, and as the hours passed, the pain in Steve's head was clearly increasing, but he soldiered on. He was becoming irritable as well, but he was mostly aware of it and tried to rein it in, apologizing every time he snapped, though it _was_ increasing in frequency.

"This doesn't make any sense," he growled, staring at a file that had been in his hands for a couple of minutes now.

"Not getting anything?" Peggy asked. It was a rare file that got them nothing, but it did happen.

He shook his head. "No, I did, it just…Doesn't match."

"What is it?"

They were into the V's now, and the file he was holding had the name "Vladivostok' on the label. He gestured absently at the paper. "It's Ivchenko. He popped up again. This guy was a major player in Leviathan and Hydra."

"Yes," Peggy prompted. They'd know that after last summer and his plot to use Howard and his inventions to wipe out the city of New York.

"The more I get about him, the less…" He huffed an irritated sigh. "Last summer doesn't make any sense. The gas in New York thing? It doesn't come up _any_ where. Not even a P.S. at the end of a telegram. I don't see how in the hell they could have done something like that without any planning."

"Perhaps they were just particularly secretive about it," Peggy suggested.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Sure. They can write down their plans to rig the 1948 elections, but not the one where they murder the entire population of New York City." He stuffed the file back into the box a little more forcefully than necessary.

"I don't pretend to know how their minds work," Peggy said, not quite keeping all the snap out of her own voice. "I was only offering a suggestion."

He turned back around with another file in his hand, cheeks flushed with scarlet. "Sorry," he said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…"

Peggy nodded in absolution. "It's been a long day."

"Sorry," he said again.

"Come here for a moment," she said. She got off the stool she was sitting on and gestured for him to come sit on it. Hesitating a moment, he did. She took the file out of his hands and set it on the table, then placed her fingers on his temples and began rubbing in slow circles.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Sh," she said, continuing her rubbing, spiraling her fingers out into wider circles. "Just sit and take a moment."

"I don't need a break," he protested, but there was no fire in it.

"Sh," she said again. She spent a couple of minutes massaging his head, and it was almost as though she could feel the knots of tension uncoiling under her fingers. She kept going until he started to sway on the stool a little bit—she would have liked to just take him home and send him to bed to rest, but he was right, this needed doing, and so a small relief was all she could offer at the moment.

"Better?" she asked.

He nodded. "Thanks." He sighed. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"It's forgiven," she said. She handed him the file she'd set on the table. "Ready to keep going? Almost there."

He nodded, smiled, and returned to his work. It took them another hour to get to the end of the files—Steve wasn't really reading them, merely scanning the words and images and seeing what triggered a flash. He was saying as much as he could out loud without slowing down, and Peggy was recording the highlights so that they could go back later and use her notes to sound the depths of this new knowledge at a healthier pace.

"That's it," Steve said, putting the last file away. He rubbed the side of his head. "Oof," he sighed.

"Well done," Peggy told him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I think we're going to make a lot of progress with this," she said, tapping her notebook.

"Yeah, I think so," he agreed.

They made their way back upstairs to where Jack and Barnes were wrapping up the day. "Hope you two got a lot," Jack said. "We've got the boys on scents for some major leads."

"Good," Peggy said. "And I think we've got plenty more to work off of now."

"Great," Jack said. He looked over at Steve and smacked him in the shoulder. "How you holding up, there, Tiger?"

Steve glared, clearly not keen on the nickname. "Peachy," he said coolly.

"Hey, Jack, before you head out, I've got that file on—Peggy!" Daniel Sousa said, walking into the office. He smiled broadly. He dropped his file onto Jack's desk and stepped closer to her. "Wow, it's good to see you. I mean, Jack told me you were alive, but…"

Peggy smiled warmly at the look of relief on his face. "It's good to see you too, Daniel," she said. Aside from Rose out at the front desk, Daniel was really the only person in the office Peggy had ever thought of as a friend. She'd felt rather badly about leaving him thinking she was dead. "I am sorry about all this."

"Oh, hey, it's alright," he said, waving a hand. "Nature of the job, right? I'm just glad you're okay."

A very soft whimper pulled her head around, and Peggy turned to see that Steve had dropped down into one of the spare chairs and was holding his head in his hands. "Steve?" she asked, but Barnes was closer.

"Steve?" he said, crouching beside him and resting a hand on his back. "What's wrong?" He shot a quick look up at Peggy, both of them clearly thinking back to his massive flash a couple of days ago.

Steve shook his head carefully. "Nothing," he said. He looked up, his eyes apologetic and pained. "Headache's catching up to me is all." He made a convulsive swallowing motion.

"You gonna puke?" Barnes asked.

"Maybe," Steve answered softly.

"Let me get him to the bathroom," Barnes said, already pulling Steve carefully to his feet. He escorted him quickly down the hall in the direction of the bathrooms.

"That the guy you got pulled off the Underwood case for?" Daniel asked after they'd left.

"Yes," Peggy said, her mind still half on Steve and his pain.

"Am I allowed to ask what's so special about him?" Daniel asked curiously. "Most protective details don't involve faking a plane crash."

Peggy smiled at that. "No, they don't. But I'm afraid I can't say," she said. She rested a hand briefly on his shoulder. "You're safer not knowing."

He nodded and didn't look offended. "Sure." He looked between her and Jack. "Should I expect you two to be out for a while, then?"

"I've set some of the guys up with some work to do for me, but, yeah, probably," Jack said. He grinned. "Looks like you get to run the place for a while. Think you can handle it?"

"Can't be that hard if you do it," Daniel replied with a grin of his own, and Jack laughed. "Your friend alright?" he asked as Barnes appeared in the doorway.

"Not really," Barnes replied. "Sorry to cut your reunion short." He turned to Peggy. "It's not just the headache catching up to him—he's coming down with something. Looks a lot to me like that thing Jim had in Lucerne," he said.

"Oh dear," Peggy said, instantly on alert at his use of their old code word 'Lucerne'. It meant something was very wrong and they needed to get out _now_. She turned back to Daniel. "We really should go. If it is what Jim had, you certainly don't want that around your office."

"No, no, go ahead," he said. "Check in when you can, though, huh? Let me know how I can help." He gave them a wave and went back to his desk, settling down to look over a stack of papers.

Barnes had already departed to fetch Steve from the bathroom—and it must have been terribly important for him to leave him alone in the first place—so she put a hand on Jack's shoulder. "Come on, Jack," she said.

"How contagious is this thing?" Jack asked, picking up the file Daniel had brought and grabbing for his coat hanging on the peg by the door. "If we're going to be riding home in the same car and all."

"I don't know, but the faster we can get home, the more likely we are to do so before he gets sick all over the car," she said. Jack nodded in agreement and picked up his pace. "We need to get to the car _now_ ," she hissed into his ear when they were away from the desks, and he nodded at the urgency in her tone and didn't ask any questions until they were out of earshot.

"What's going on?" he asked when they were alone in the stairwell.

"I don't know," she said quietly. "But Barnes used one of our old codes from the war. Something is wrong and we need out."

"Got it," he said, sliding his coat on in what looked like a casual motion but Peggy knew was a cover for checking his weapon. She did the same, scratching at an invisible itch on the leg where her gun was holstered to ruck the hem of her skirt up just a bit higher.

Barnes was waiting for them at the back exit. Peggy could see Steve sitting in the backseat of the car, looking terribly nervous but not at all ill. "What's going on?" she asked as Jarvis started the engine and they got into the car.

"It's _him_ ," Steve whispered, as though someone might be listening. "Sousa." He swallowed hard. "He's Dottie's contact."

Peggy and Jack stared at him in awe. Jack found his voice first. " _Sousa_?!" he asked. "Daniel Sousa?"

"He's Hydra?!" Peggy asked.

Steve nodded.

"How do you know?" she asked. "You said you never had a face or a name for Dottie's contact."

"It was his voice," Steve said. "That's all Erskine had. A little five-second phone recording of him and Dottie talking. They didn't say anything to identify him, but…"

"Daniel Sousa?" Jack said again, still clearly trying to wrap his mind around it.

"Yes," Steve said.

"I can't believe it," Jack said.

"I haven't been wrong yet," Steve insisted.

"I don't think he meant it that way," Peggy said. "It's just…we've both been working with Daniel for so long…" Revulsion twisted in her gut as she thought of the times they'd commiserated over being overlooked in the office, the jokes and smiles and friendship that had grown up between them. "I _trusted_ him."

"How well does this Sousa guy know you?" Barnes asked. "Does he know about your connection to Stark?"

"Yes," Peggy said, suddenly realizing what he was getting at. "Mr. Jarvis, don't take us back to the house. None of Howard's properties."

"Of course, Agent Carter," he said. "Where shall I go?"

They all looked at one another.

"Where can we go that he won't think to look?" Peggy asked. Howard's properties were out, as was Jack's home, Steve's old apartment, the Griffith, or even Angie's place.

"Just keep driving until we figure something out," Jack said.

"I believe that's about to be a problem, sir," Mr. Jarvis said. He was looking up and into the rearview mirror, and they all turned around to see the flashing lights of a police car behind them.

"Bloody hell," Peggy snapped.

"Floor it," Barnes said.

Mr. Jarvis took off immediately, and the police car behind them picked up speed. Peggy had often appreciated Mr. Jarvis's skills as a getaway driver, and this evening was no exception. He wove his way expertly through traffic, darting into less-crowded streets and taking unexpected turns.

"I'm sorry," Steve said. "I really tried not to let on in front of him that I'd figured it out."

"I don't think you did," Peggy said. "I think he just didn't want to take the risk of us getting out of reach again."

"It's what I would have done," Jack agreed. "Whether I'd suspected anything or not."

Another car joined the chase, then a third, then a fourth. "I believe they're driving us towards a dead end," Mr. Jarvis said, taking a sharp turn to avoid the fifth car that cut out in front of them.

"Probably," Barnes agreed. He pulled out a gun from his holster and another one strapped to his leg. "Everybody armed?"

Peggy and Jack got their weapons ready. "Mr. Jarvis," Peggy said. "At the point at which they force us to a stop, get down out of firing range but try to stay in the driver's seat if possible so we can break out at the earliest opportunity."

He nodded sharply.

"Steve?" she said. "As soon as we stop, get down in the floor. Make yourself as small a target as possible. They're not trying to kill you, but that doesn't mean they won't hurt you. Mr. Jarvis, should you see an opening to escape, you will take it, even if Agent Thompson, Sergeant Barnes and myself are not in the car." He hesitated in replying. "Is that clear?" she demanded.

"Yes, Agent Carter," he replied.

"Peggy, no—" Steve began.

"Yes," Peggy cut him off sharply. "We cannot let them get you, and if that means getting away without us, then that's what you'll do."

"That also means if the car's out, but you see a chance to run, you take it, Steve," Barnes added.

"No!" Steve said.

"Yes!" Barnes snapped.

"If it comes down to that, the rest of us have a better chance of staying alive if you're not here," Jack said, and Peggy was surprised at his insight into Steve's mind, but Steve's expression told her he'd hit the nail on the head. "You're gone, they keep us alive because we might lead them to you. You're here, they shoot us all, because we're not the ones they really want."

Steve swallowed hard. "Okay," he said quietly.

The cars chasing them were closing in, and were herding them towards a set of warehouses by the river. Eventually, Mr. Jarvis was forced to stop or go into the water. Peggy braced herself as the car screeched to an abrupt halt, then she, Thompson and Barnes jumped out, guns ready. Steve and Mr. Jarvis ducked down as previously instructed, and the three of them started firing at the windows and tires of their pursuers. Each of them hit their mark—Peggy got a shot in through a windshield that took out the driver, and Jack shot through the other window and took out the passenger, leaving no one to jump out as the car veered into a wall. Barnes had been her team's sniper for a reason during the war, and he took out the driver of one car with one shot and the wheels of another car with the next, sending that car careening out of control into the harbour.

Three cars pulled to a stop behind the ones they'd taken out, and men with guns poured out, taking cover behind the vehicles and firing at them. None of them were men Peggy recognized from the S.S.R., which was comforting in its way, but did make her wonder where Daniel had gotten so many people to chase them at such short notice.

Her gun clicked empty, as did Thompson's, but a shout from Barnes had them turning and snatching new weapons out of the air as he pulled them from somewhere in his jacket and tossed them over. Peggy wasn't particularly surprised by the move—Barnes had never seemed to be short on weaponry during the war, though where he kept it all had been one of the ongoing jokes of the unit.

The fight soon moved to hand-to-hand as their attackers' guns began to run out of ammunition, though Peggy and Jack and Barnes certainly kept taking as many shots as they could. Over the din of gunfire and fists meeting flesh, Peggy heard the occasional metallic reverberation, and Barnes hadn't been kidding about his left hook.

Whenever she could, she kept shooting glances back at the car—the three of them were trying to keep the brawl far enough away from the car to keep its occupants safe, but near enough to keep an eye on things. Thus far, they appeared to be safe, but then the butt of a gun being swung at Peggy's head drew her attention away. She did wonder briefly where Daniel was as she grabbed her attacker's arm and hurled him up over her shoulder and into the ground. Daniel didn't often engage in physical combat—she dodged a foot coming at her head and let it catch her in the shoulder, giving her the momentum to roll away—but he was a very good shot, and she couldn't see him not coming after them.

"I think that's enough," came a familiar voice from behind them, and there he was. Everything came to a standstill as they all turned around and realized what Daniel was doing. He was standing by the car. Mr. Jarvis was unconscious but still breathing in the driver's seat, and Steve was still on the floor where Peggy had told him to hide, but he was on his back with the foot of Daniel's crutch pressing down against his neck.

"You don't want to kill him," Barnes said, not dropping any of his weapons.

"No," Daniel agreed, casually as if he was talking about the weather. "But I will. If he dies, I lose access to everything in his head, but so do you, which I'd still call a win. And if I lose him, I'm sure I can still get something out of the three of you." He arched an eyebrow, implying that the next move was up to them. With fury churning in her chest, Peggy dropped her gun and held her hands up. After a moment, Barnes and Thompson followed suit. "Good girl," Daniel said with a smile. He nodded at one of his men, and they moved forward and hauled Steve roughly up out of the car, tying a length of cord around his wrists. "Put him in the car," he said, nodding to one of the cars in the back.

"Sousa," Jack began.

"Shut up," Daniel warned, pulling a gun from his belt and pointing it at him. He smiled. "I've been wanting to tell you that for years. I've also been wanting to shoot you for years," he added, fingering the hammer of the gun thoughtfully. "Unfortunately, I can't, because if I'm supposed to take over when you're gone, your death does need to look like an accident." He nodded to another one of his men. "Tie him up in the warehouse until we can decide what to do with him. Take the driver too," he added as an afterthought. Mr. Jarvis was dragged from the car behind the men that marched Thompson away.

"As for you," Daniel said. He tilted his head slightly, considering Barnes for a moment. "I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be dead. I should probably fix that." He fired and blood blossomed from Barnes's chest as he staggered back and fell into the harbour.

"Bucky!" Peggy heard Steve cry from the car.

"And as for you…" Daniel said, turning to look at Peggy.

"Daniel," Peggy began slowly. "Stop and think about this for a moment."

"Oh, I have," he assured her. "Still haven't figured out just what to do with you, though."

"I need her," Steve called from the car.

They both turned to look at him. Tears were streaking down his face, but Peggy knew him well enough to know they weren't tears of fear, but of fury.

"She knows how to make this all work," he said, lifting his bound hands to gesture at his head. "If you want any chance of getting anything out of my head, you're going to need her to do it."

Daniel considered for a long moment. "He mean that?" he asked at last, looking at Peggy.

"No," she replied, working just enough uncertainty into her voice to make it sound as though she was lying, desperate to preserve the S.S.R.'s knowledge even at the cost of her own life, knowing Daniel would expect something like that. "He's just trying to keep me safe."

Daniel huffed a laugh. "Oh, safe is the last thing either of you are going to be," he said, and Peggy just had the time to be relieved he was taking her too, since that meant she still had a chance to rescue Steve, and then something heavy hit her in the back of the head. She was unconscious before she hit the pavement.

She woke up to delicate but surprisingly strong fingers carding through her hair, and it took her a minute to work out where she was. She was lying on her back across the seat of a car, hands and ankles bound. Her head was in Steve's lap, and the flashing lights she was seeing were streetlights passing by as they drove.

"Peggy, are you okay?" Steve asked, and she looked up to see his worried blue eyes hovering above her.

"Been better," she said. "But I'll live."

He helped her sit up slowly, and her head cleared a bit as she got more vertical. They were in the back of a police car, bars on the windows and between the two of them and the driver and Daniel.

"Hiya, Peg," Daniel said, catching her eyes in the rearview mirror. "Nothing?" he added when Peggy glared coldly but didn't reply.

"There doesn't seem to be much to say," Peggy said. She didn't want to keep talking to him, but there was something she needed to know. "How long have you been with Hydra?"

Daniel grinned, as though he'd anticipated the question. "Since before you knew me. If that makes you feel any better."

"Not really, no," she said. "Why?"

His smile faltered, and there was a hardness in his voice when he spoke. "Why?" he repeated. "You know what I gave up for this country? I had a life before the war, before the S.S.R. Gave that up to do my duty. I had a girl too. We were gonna get married. Two years of me doing my duty, and she decides to leave me for a guy who dodged the draft. My life, my future—gone, in service to my country. Didn't think I had much more to give, but then I ended up giving my leg too. And this country that I've given up everything for, how do they repay me?" Hard lines set across his face. "By leaving me for dead in a mud puddle in France. By treating me like a bully like Thompson's a better man than me just because he's got two working legs. By acting like I'm a burden on the society I fought to protect."

Peggy glared back at him coldly. "So you joined Hydra out of bitterness? Really, Daniel, I would have thought better of you."

Daniel glared back. "Not bitterness, no. Although, a little appreciation for my efforts would have been nice."

"Well, you sure sound bitter to me," Steve muttered.

"You know who got me out of that mud puddle in France?" Daniel said.

"Hydra?" Peggy guessed.

"Yes," he replied. "Hydra. They saved my life. And you know what else? I was sitting there thinking I was going to end up a P.O.W. at best, and some sort of science experiment at worst. But they fixed me up and then sent me to an Army hospital so I could go home. They weren't the heartless monsters I thought I'd been fighting this war against."

"Let me guess," Peggy said coolly. "They sent you home after you agreed to join them?" She wondered what had happened to keep them from experimenting on him as they had done with Barnes. Perhaps they had seen some sort of opening to get a man on the inside that the Sergeant wouldn't have afforded them.

"Yeah, but, Peggy, it wasn't like that," he insisted. "They didn't make me do anything. They weren't trying to destroy the world, they were trying to save it."

Steve snorted disdainfully.

Daniel shot him a glare. "I hardly expect someone who wasn't over there to understand. But, Peg," he said, turning back to look at Peggy. "You were there. You saw how awful that war was. You saw what people are capable of doing to each other. And right on the heels of World War One. Humanity never learns, and if we're not careful, we're going to destroy ourselves. Hydra's trying to bring _order_ to things. To fix it."

Peggy didn't argue his point that the war had been awful, because she'd seen it for herself. She still had nightmares about it. But she still was barely able to hold in a snort of disgust. "You want to talk about war atrocities, Daniel?" she asked. "Do you know what Hydra did during the war?"

"I know what they did then and since," he said. "And it keeps me up a lot of nights, but to change something as big as the entire world? You've got to sacrifice. Get dirty. And if I have to get down in the muck to pull a better world out of it, then I will."

Steve snorted again. "You're crazy."

Daniel shot him a hard look. "I'd think long and hard about your attitude from here on out. You belong to Hydra now, but how good that goes for you is entirely up to you."

Steve opened his mouth to retort, but Peggy cleared her throat. "Leave it, Steve," she said. "You'd just be wasting your breath." She looked coolly back at Daniel. "I don't suppose there's any point in asking where we're going?"

"Nowhere anybody's going to find you," he said with a smile. "Like I said, you belong to Hydra now. We'll go somewhere nice and quiet and out of the way where we can get some work done."

They rode in silence for a few minutes. Peggy was watching their surroundings through the windows, paying attention to where they were going, but she doubted it mattered. They were heading out of town but staying along the river, and she suspected they would shortly be getting on a boat or an aeroplane.

"There's one thing about this that I'm not following," she said. She'd been thinking over what Daniel had said, processing and putting bits together, but there was something that didn't add up. Something that Steve had already spotted when they'd been searching the files. "Dottie and Ivchenko. They're Hydra. But you were actively trying to stop them last summer."

Daniel snorted. "Ivchenko. He was one of our best. And then, out of nowhere, he goes rogue on this crazy revenge vendetta. We're trying to create order and save the world, remember? Slaughtering the entire population of Manhattan doesn't exactly fit into that. Yes, I was trying to stop him."

"And Dottie?"

"You know as well as I do how…persuasive Ivchenko can be. She thought she was doing what Hydra wanted. After it was all over, she and I had to sit down and have a nice long talk to remind her who she really worked for."

Something in the way he said that made Peggy's skin crawl, and she felt a brief flash of pity for Dorothy Underwood.

"But I think you've asked enough questions," he said. "Turn here," he told the driver. They pulled off the main road onto a little dirt drive that led them through a wooded area and opened onto a small landing strip. "Stay in the car," Daniel ordered as he and the driver got out. Seeing as the doors only unlocked from the outside and there were two new men with guns coming to greet Daniel and the driver, Peggy didn't see they had much option.

"Hey, Peggy, I…I'm sorry I talked him into taking you too," Steve said. "I didn't know he was going to hit you and everything, I just, I was afraid he was going to shoot you too." He swallowed hard, and Peggy knew he was thinking of Barnes tumbling into the harbour.

"I know," Peggy said. "It's better this way anyway—it's much easier to get you out of this if I know where you are." She smiled kindly. "And I wouldn't count Barnes out just yet." He'd certainly fallen farther and survived it. It all depended on the bullet, really, and where it had hit him, but there _was_ a great deal of metal on the left side of his chest for Daniel to have hit. Still not good, obviously, but Sergeant James Barnes was proving to be a very difficult man to kill.

Steve nodded. "I know. I just…" He shook his head, closed his eyes and drew in a breath. When he opened his eyes, he seemed a bit steadier. "What's the plan?"

"We're playing it by ear, unfortunately," she said. "Keep your eyes open for any chance to get away, and if I tell you to do something, do it."

Steve smiled. "Don't I always?"

Peggy couldn't help smiling at that, but returned to the topic at hand. "Until that point, try to refrain from arguing with him, and do the best you can to play along."

"What?"

"He knows me too well to underestimate me, but you're an unknown entity. If he thinks you're frightened and beaten, he's going to underestimate you. I know it's not in your nature to just roll over and play dead, but if he's not worried about you, that gives us another card to play."

Steve nodded. "Alright. We could probably use all of those we could get, huh?"

"We could."

"I'll do my best."

"Keep your eyes open for any information that could help us, any opportunity," she went on. "And if you flash on anything, try your best not to let him see it. The less he knows about how it works, the better."

Steve nodded.

"How's your headache from earlier?" she asked.

"Better, but not great," he said. "Is that important?"

"To escaping, no," she said. "I just wanted to know how you were."

He smiled, and opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut when one of Daniel's accomplices pulled the door open and yanked him roughly from the car by his arm. Peggy found herself only slightly more gently removed from the other side, though she nearly lost her footing with her ankles bound. It was clever of Daniel, she had to admit, to think of tying more than just her hands, but it only sent fury boiling up in her chest when her escort picked her up and threw her over his shoulder to carry her into the little shed at the side of the landing strip. She was going to break more of his bones than were necessary when she got free.

She was roughly deposited into a chair once they were inside, and she took the opportunity to fall from the seat as if incorrectly placed and tumble to the ground. In doing so, she managed to lift her bound hands just enough to pull one of the bobby pins from her hair and tuck it down the neck of her shirt and inside her bra before she was hoisted back up and secured to the chair. Steve, playing his part well, was cowering in the corner he'd been thrown into, eyes darting nervously around the room. He caught something that made his eyes do the flashing, fluttering thing, and Peggy spoke a bit more loudly than she otherwise would have, drawing all eyes back to her.

"You know, I seem to remember Hydra being better financed than this," she said, casting a disdainful eye around the room. It was a plain, wooden shed with a single light bulb dangling from a string overhead, though there was a table of radio equipment that was probably far more sophisticated than it looked.

Daniel sighed and rolled his eyes, not being drawn into the argument, but he turned his attention to the man by the radio, so her plan to keep eyes off of Steve worked. "Plane almost here?"

"Ten minutes, sir," the man replied.

Daniel nodded, walked around Peggy, and pulled up a crate to sit down in front of Steve, setting down a small messenger bag he'd brought in from the car next to him, and laying his crutch across his lap. "Well, since we have a few minutes…" He smiled a smile that was not very friendly at all at Steve. "Why don't you tell me about yourself, Mr. Rogers?" He lifted his crutch and poked at the side of Steve's head. "How does all that work?"

"I don't know," Steve said quietly. "I just see things. I can't control it."

"No? Well, that's too bad. That means our techs are going to have to try even harder to dig all that information out. They've had some sort of machine cooked up since we heard Erskine made the database, and I gotta tell you, it doesn't look pretty. I'd hate to see what it could do to a guy like you—you don't look all that sturdy." As if to prove his point, Daniel shoved the foot of his crutch into Steve's chest and pushed, making him wince and wheeze.

"So, you can't control it," Daniel said. "But you must get _something_ out of it sometime. You think I don't know what Thompson had the boys digging around for today? How did you know about that?"

"It just came to me," Steve said. "Honest."

"So, how does Carter fit into all of this?" he pressed. Steve swallowed and didn't answer and Daniel pulled his crutch back up and whacked him in the side of the head. Steve whimpered, and, given the headache she knew he still had, Peggy didn't think it was all acting.

"Daniel, stop it!" she said.

"Here's how this is going to work," Daniel said, ignoring her. He leaned forward and grabbed Steve's chin in his hand, forcing him to look up at him. "You answer my questions, you don't get hurt. You answer enough questions, I put in a good word for you when we get to where we're going, and you don't spend the rest of your life chained up in a dark hole with wires sticking out of your head. Sound good?"

Peggy caught Steve's eye over Daniel's shoulder and nodded minutely, reminding him to play along.

"Okay," Steve whispered.

"Okay," Daniel said, sitting back. "How does Carter fit into all of this?"

Seeing as her fitting into things had been a complete fabrication to keep her from getting shot, Peggy did wonder what he was going to say.

"She knows what it means," Steve said. "The things I see. When I tell her what I see, she knows what the things are and asks questions, and it makes me see more. Without that…It's just noise flashing through my head, and then it just goes."

"How long have you known about me?"

"Just today."

"Who else knows?"

Steve hesitated, and Daniel hit him again.

"I'm sorry!" Steve said. "I'm sorry! Nobody knows. Nobody you don't already have."

"What about Stark? His butler was helping you."

Steve shook his head. "He never comes out of the lab. I don't think he knew we even left today."

"What else do you know about Hydra?"

"Too much," Steve breathed, and he curled into an even smaller ball and wrapped his arms over his head. "Too much," he said again, a waver in his voice, and Peggy couldn't help being impressed at how artfully that was done.

Daniel shook his head in contempt as Steve started rocking back and forth and stood back up. "Wow. They picked a real winner with you."

"Plane's landing, sir," said the man at the radio.

"Good," Daniel said. He stalked outside. Two of the guards followed him, leaving only one and the radio operator behind.

Through the window, Peggy could see the lights of a landing plane. She cast a quick eye over at Steve, who was peeking cautiously out from behind his arms. Seeing that the guard was watching the door and the radio operator was busy with his equipment, Steve rolled carefully forward, snaked his bound hands into Daniel's bag, and after a few seconds of groping around, pulled something out and stuffed it inside his shirt before returning to his terrified huddle. Peggy didn't see what it was he grabbed, but that was an impressive move.

Three gunshots suddenly rang out from the landing strip, making everyone in the shed jump. The guard and the radio operator snapped to attention, looking questioningly at Daniel when he came in, and he shot them too, each one right between the eyes.

"Can't have any witnesses," Daniel said in response to Steve's startled yelp. "Little guy is _way_ too important for that." He reached down and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, jabbed Steve roughly in the gut with the foot of his crutch and barked, "Up!", then turned his gun on Peggy. "Come over here and untie her feet," he ordered. "I'll shoot her in the head if either of you put a toe out of line," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Nervously, Steve crept forward and untied Peggy's feet, then, at Daniel's order, uncuffed her wrists from the chair and cuffed them back together. He looked up at her as though he wanted to cry, and Peggy hoped the way she was looking at him told him she didn't blame him for having to do this.

Daniel walked them all out to the plane, far enough behind Peggy that she couldn't whirl around to attack him, but close enough to ensure a head shot, the threat of which kept Steve from making any trouble. They climbed up and into the plane, and Daniel had Steve loop Peggy's cuffs around a bar in the back of the plane before taking off.

"Peggy, I'm sorry," Steve whispered over the roar of the engine.

"Don't be," she assured him. "I've been able to get out of handcuffs since before I joined the S.S.R. Quiet, now," she said as Daniel turned back to look at them.

It was a risky move, taking out all his backup, but Peggy knew Daniel was a competent agent (even if he _was_ a traitor), and overpowering one of him would be plenty of a challenge. It evened their odds, certainly, but he still had the upper hand. She spent some time familiarizing herself with the interior of the small plane. Daniel had planned this well—there was nothing that wasn't strapped down that she could use as a weapon, and there was just enough distance between the two of them and him that he would have time to get his gun up if she charged him. The distance worked to their advantage too, though. They were far enough back that small movements could be more easily concealed—something she noticed Steve was taking advantage of. He remained in his small, frightened-looking huddle with his knees drawn up to his chest, but concealed behind them was a small hardcover notebook that seemed to be what he had pulled from Daniel's bag. He was scanning it quickly, his eyes fluttering as they did when he flashed on something.

"What's the matter with him?" Daniel asked, casting another sharp glance behind him.

"He gets airsick," Peggy replied. "I don't suppose you've got a first aid kit on board?"

Daniel huffed a laugh. "Not one I'm letting you anywhere near. We're not going far. He can deal with it for another hour."

Good; so, she had an hour to make her move. "Well, don't blame me then if he's sick all over the floor."

Daniel didn't respond and returned his attention to the controls, though he continued to cast frequent glances at his prisoners. Peggy timed them, finding a fairly regular rhythm to the motion and surmising she would have about thirty seconds to make her move. She looked down at Steve and noted with concern that blood was dripping from his nose. "Steve?" she whispered.

"Wearin' thin for th' job," he said a bit thickly. He flipped a page and paused as he flashed on something else. "S'important. I c'n do this all day." His eyes scanned farther down the page and fluttered again as his head rolled slightly on his neck.

Peggy nodded a bit worriedly—Steve was trusting her to get him out of this, so she could trust him to do his job—and returned to her timing of Daniel's movements and her scanning of the plane. She spotted where the parachutes were, and spent some time studying the door and which way everything opened for a fast exit.

They'd been in the air for about half an hour, and Daniel seemed to have relaxed a bit as the flight had carried on without incident. He was looking back at them less now, and Peggy decided now was the time to make her move, before they got too close to their destination and he went back on alert.

"Steve?" she whispered.

He looked up from the book, blinking blearily as though having trouble pulling her into focus. "Peggy?" he asked.

"Steve, are you alright?"

"Head's killing me," he admitted. "'m done, though. Last page."

"Good. Because we're getting out of here."

He looked around, as if confirming they were still in the plane. "We're gonna hafta jump again, aren't we?"

She couldn't help a small smile at that. "I'm afraid so."

He nodded. "What do I need to do?"

"Reach up quickly and pull the clip out of my hair. It's sharp on one side," she added as he did so. She had several alligator clips like this one that Ana Jarvis had designed and Howard put together, and she wore them frequently as they had a tendency to be overlooked when one was being searched for weapons. "Keep your hands hidden like you were with the book and use it to cut the ropes off your wrists."

It took him a few tries to figure out how to hold it at the right angle to free his own wrists, but he managed. "What now?"

She nodded to where the parachutes were stored. "When I go for Daniel, you go that way. Pull the parachutes out, strap yourself into one, and get the other one out for me. Then stay out of the way."

"Yes, Ma'am." He looked at her curiously. "How are you going to get up there if you're chained to the wall?"

"After all this time, have you no faith in me, Steve?" she teased.

He didn't play along. "I've got all kinds of faith in you," he said seriously. "I'm just curious."

She smiled back. "Watch and learn." She waited until Daniel looked back at them again, and then as soon as his head was turned away, she leaned forward and shifted her hands, pulling the cuffs around enough to allow one hand to reach down into her shirt and retrieve the bobby pin. She undid the cuff around one wrist and slid it quickly and quietly free from the wall. She gripped the cuff tightly in her hand, took a deep breath, and threw herself forward.

Daniel was fast enough to see her coming, but she was fast enough to get there before he got his gun up. She flung out the chain of the cuffs and tried to catch him around the neck, but he ducked, punching her in the side and rolling away. The plane lurched as he did so, and Peggy rolled with it and kicked his crutch towards the back of the plane before he could grab it. He punched her in the stomach and she grabbed his hair and slammed his face into the control panel. Blood dripping from his nose, he lunged back up and took a shot at her, and Peggy felt it graze her side before clanging into the wall of the plane. He threw himself at her with the lurching of the plane, careening forward and pinning her to the wall. Gravity and his larger mass made him difficult to push off, and he wrapped his hands around her neck. She kicked viciously at his stomach and legs, and though her knee to his groin made the air leave him in a _whoosh_ , he stubbornly held on.

Peggy gasped for air, then saw a flash of metal as the leg of Daniel's crutch came swinging through the air to crash into the side of his head. He staggered to the floor and Steve scuttled back out of the way, fortunately having the wherewithal to take the crutch with him and keep it out of Daniel's reach. Peggy lunged forward as Daniel was picking himself up off the ground and swung the chain between the cuffs around his neck, getting it in place this time and catching the empty cuff with her free hand. She pulled tightly against his windpipe, holding on for a few more seconds after he stopped struggling to make sure he was unconscious.

"If we weren't about to crash, I would have some very strong words for you about staying out of the way," Peggy told Steve, grabbing the parachute he was holding out to her and slipping it on. "Remind me to shout at you when we land."

Steve merely grinned and saluted, and Peggy rolled her eyes as she fastened the last strap of her parachute, grabbed one of the radios, and stepped towards the door. "You remember how to do this?" she asked, looking over Steve and making sure he was buckled in correctly. He nodded, and she tugged the door open, sending howling wind through the cabin. She looked out, wrapped her hand around Steve's arm, and yanked him out of the plane behind her as she jumped.

The night air whipped by them as they plunged into darkness. Distantly, Peggy was aware of the lights of the descending aircraft disappearing into the clouds above them. She couldn't see much of Steve, but she could tell he was there, and close enough that hopefully her voice would carry over the wind. "Pull!" she yelled. She didn't know how much altitude they had lost before they jumped, and needing two thousand feet for the parachutes to open properly, sooner was definitely better than later.

They yanked on the cords of the parachutes, and as they got closer to the ground, Peggy could see that they were thankfully over land, and high enough up to prevent _too_ jarring a crash.

Peggy kept her feet as they hit the ground, though Steve tumbled to the ground as he landed several feet away. Peggy took off her parachute quickly, and was relieved and a little bit amused to see him struggling to get out from underneath his. Eventually he came free, and she held out a hand to help him to his feet.

"Alright?" she asked.

"I must be getting used to this stuff," he said with a grin. "I don't feel like puking at all."

"Good," she said with a smile. She stared at him for a long moment, then, with a sudden surge of adrenaline and the feeling she should have done this long ago, she grabbed his face in her hands, pulled him forward, and kissed him.

"I thought you were gonna yell at me," he said with a dazed grin when she pulled back.

"I can do that later," she said. "This, I should have done earlier."

"I'll say," Steve agreed. He leaned towards her, a bit hesitantly, like he was worried he was pushing his luck, but Peggy leaned the rest of the way and met him in the middle. He weaved one hand up into her hair to cup the back of her head as he kissed her, and, yes, they really should have started doing this earlier.

They stopped when Steve seemed to be getting a bit short of breath, and for a long moment they simply stood there in the moonlight. "Wow," Steve breathed, looking down at their clasped hands.

"I'll say," Peggy replied, echoing his words and eliciting a delighted smile from him. She did love the way he smiled.

"Is this, I mean, this is really…" he began. "This isn't just some wow-we're-alive adrenaline thing is it?" he asked.

"Not for me," Peggy replied.

His smile grew even more delighted. "Me neither," he said. "Peggy, I…" He shook his head in amazed bewilderment. "Peggy, I love you."

Now it was her turn to smile in delight. "I love you too, Steve." She kissed him gently. "You are the most…surprising, wonderful person I've ever met. My life hasn't been the same since you appeared in it, and I'm terribly glad."

He was smiling at her in wonder. "Really?" he breathed. "I…" He huffed a laugh. "I was gonna say the same thing about you. I'd've never thought my life getting flipped upside down would lead to me meeting someone so… _amazing_."

He leaned forward again, no hesitation this time, and kissed her warmly. She kissed him back, and it was only as the radio knocked against her hip that she remembered they weren't quite finished yet. She pulled away reluctantly.

"I suppose we'd better check on the others."

"Right," Steve agreed a bit breathlessly.

Peggy spent a few minutes trying to tune the radio by moonlight, then was rewarded with a burst of static. "Howard?" she said. "Howard, are you there?"

"Peggy!" Howard's delighted voice broke through. "Hey, you're alright! I told you!" he added to someone in the background.

There was a scuffling sound, then a new voice came on the line. "Carter, are you and Steve okay?"

"Bucky!" Steve exclaimed happily.

"Hey, Stevie," Barnes greeted warmly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Steve said. "I'm…" He looked up at Peggy and grinned. "I'm great." He turned back to the radio. "Are you alright? I saw him shoot you, and—"

"I'm fine," Barnes assured him. "I could tell a shot was coming, so I turned just enough that the bullet caught me in the shoulder. The metal one," he elaborated. "There was a lot of blood, and it shorted out a few of the wires, but Stark says he'll have it good as new tomorrow."

"And Thompson and Mr. Jarvis?" Peggy asked.

"I was wondering if you were going to ask," Thompson said. "Yeah, Barnes swam around to the warehouse and took out the guys holding me and Jarvis. We're good. What about Sousa?"

"I imagine he's dead," Peggy said. "But it would be prudent to check wherever the plane went down for a body."

They spent a few minutes working out where she and Steve were, and after consulting some maps, told her and Steve to wait by the road while Barnes and Thompson came to get them.

The road wasn't far away, and once they reached it, they found a fallen log and dragged it over to sit on, near enough to a streetlamp to give them visibility, but in the shadow enough to give them some cover.

"So what was in that book you were reading?" Peggy asked after they sat down. She picked up one of Steve's hands in hers and twined her fingers through his. "And how's your head?"

"Well, it's gone down from incessant pounding to a steady throbbing, so, getting better," Steve said. "Adrenaline's helping. And, you know…" he added, nodding down at their intertwined hands with a smile.

"I'm glad of that," Peggy said, squeezing his hand. "But once we get somewhere safe, you're going to be taking a great deal of medicine and sleeping for a very long time."

"No arguing from me," he said.

"What about the book?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah," he said. He grinned broadly. "Oh, Peggy, we got 'em. I figured he had to have something important in the bag he wanted to bring to the super-secret facility, but that book was the jackpot!"

"What was in it?"

"What do you need?" he asked. "Arena Club members? I've got names, addresses, and the dirt that would get them legally arrested. You want Dottie Underwood's safehouses? I've got twenty-four of 'em. Hydra senators? Check. Congress members? Check. F.B.I., C.I.A. and S.S.R. double-agents? Got it, got it, and got it. I could tell you who's Hydra in Parliament and Moscow. You want actors? Mob bosses? Elementary teachers and Air Force pilots?" He pointed to the sides of his head triumphantly. "I got 'em all."

Peggy gaped at him and he grinned even wider, clearly pleased with what he'd discovered.

"It would seem our friend, Mr. Sousa," he went on. "Was important enough to know who all the key players were and what they were up to. I mean, he didn't write that all down, obviously, but some names and codes just to help himself remember things, but that's all I needed."

A smile stretched across Peggy's face. "Steve, you're brilliant." She grabbed him and kissed him hard enough to make him squeak in surprise, and it was several minutes later before they came up for air. "Do you know what this means?"

"It means that by the time the election comes around next year, we oughta have this thing under control," he said happily.

"Exactly," she said, and kissed him again. There was a lot of work to be done yet, of course, but with this new information, they were miles ahead.

They sat there and talked about it all for the next hour until Jack and Barnes arrived. It grew cooler as the night drew on, and they shifted closer together on their log. Steve fit very comfortably against Peggy's side, and she'd been right before, it _was_ very pleasant to do this under non-perilous circumstances.

The car finally pulled up, and Peggy greeted Barnes's raised eyebrow at how close they were sitting with one of her own, daring him to comment. He merely chuckled and nodded and elbowed Steve in the shoulder, making him blush. They got in and headed for home, filling in their comrades on what had happened since they'd left them by the harbour and on Steve's new discovery.

Jack let out a low, appreciative whistle. "Tell you what, Rogers, how set are you on going back to your museum job?"

"What?"

"The S.S.R. could use a guy like you."

Steve's mouth dropped open. "You want me to be a secret agent?"

"It's a desk job," Thompson clarified. "But, yeah." He looked into the rearview mirror and caught Peggy's eye. "And since my best agent is assigned to your protection indefinitely, getting you in my office gets her back too."

Peggy smiled warmly at Jack's declaration, though she arched an eyebrow at him. "You think flattery will get you anywhere, Chief Thompson?"

Jack chuckled, then looked over at Barnes. "You in? I've got an opening in my department—I don't think Sousa's going to need his desk anymore."

Barnes turned to look into the back seat at Steve and Peggy. "Yeah, may as well. You're gonna need all the help you can get."

"Oh, really?" Peggy replied.

Barnes smirked. "I was talking to Thompson."

Steve laughed and Thompson reached over and clapped Barnes on his uninjured shoulder, declaring him to be alright, and Peggy rolled her eyes. It would seem as though her life wasn't going to start getting dull any time soon.

As the conversation died away, Peggy found the combination of the stillness and the ending of a terribly long day settling a contented drowsiness over her. Steve had dropped off not long ago, slowly slumping over until his head rested on Peggy's shoulder. Deciding it was too dark for Jack to see them anyway with his eyes on the road, Peggy shifted so he could lean more comfortably on her and slipped an arm around his waist. If Barnes saw anything, he said nothing, and Peggy smiled and rested her head against the window.

* * *

_That's it for the Bodyguard AU!_

_Next up, another TV show AU as Steve and Peggy drop into the Once Upon A Time universe and try to navigate their way through the Evil Queen's curse._


	5. Once Upon A Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It would seem I'm on a kick of writing Steve and Peggy into other shows. This time, they're in Once Upon A Time. (For the unfamiliar, it's a fairy tale world, and the evil queen casts a curse that sends everyone into our world without magic or their memory of where they came from. No one ages and nothing changes for 28 years until the curse is broken.) Steve is big this time and he's a baker, Peggy is a lawyer, and Bucky is also here as himself/the Mad Hatter, since Sebastian Stan was already in the show and all (though parts of his story will be different than in the show).

* * *

_1983_

When Grant woke up, it took him a minute of staring at the ceiling to shake off his dream and remember where he was. He wasn't sure what it was about those dreams with the purple smoke, but he always felt like it was still clinging to him when he woke, cold and confused and smelling lightning on the air.

He sat up and the dream vanished as he pushed the curtain open—warm sunlight was peeking through the window, and he could hear seagulls cawing out in the harbor. He headed downstairs to the bakery to start up the ovens and get a few batches of dough rising, then came back up and had breakfast.

He paged through the _Storybrooke Daily Mirror_ as he ate his eggs. Sometimes he wondered why he got the paper at all, as nothing ever seemed to happen, but he supposed there was comfort in its sameness, and he liked doing the crossword puzzle. One of these days, he would get the thing done in pen.

He washed his breakfast dishes—the more dishes he did now, the less there would be to do after dinner, leaving more time to relax at the end of the day. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to point that out, or who it was he was supposed to be pointing it out to. He shrugged and headed downstairs and got to work baking.

The usual morning rush had slowed down by the time he leaned across the counter with his half-finished crossword puzzle. He penciled in a few more words, then straightened up when the little bell over the door rang.

"Good morning, Mr. Rogers," said the woman coming in the door.

"Good morning, Miss Carter," he replied. "I'm pretty sure I've told you you can call me Grant," he added with a smile.

Her perfectly red lips curled up in an answering smile. "Well, I won't until you call me Elizabeth," she said. "It would be overly familiar."

Grant laughed. "Alright, Elizabeth," he said. "Let me guess, French Bread today?"

She arched an eyebrow. "How did you know that?"

"It's Tuesday."

"Good Lord, am I really that predictable?" she chuckled. "Yes, I'll take two loaves, please."

Something dinged in the kitchen behind him. "Perfect timing," he told her. "Let me go get them out of the oven."

When he came back, she was studying his crossword puzzle. "I think you've got seventeen across wrong," she said, tapping the puzzle with the pencil. "'Amber' _is_ a five-letter word for 'brown', but I think 'hazel' is what they're after."

Grant leaned over and looked. "Makes sense. Fourteen down could be 'hazard', then. I've been trying all morning to come up with a word for 'danger' with a 'b' in the middle. Thanks." He looked up and realized she was still leaning in, her face only inches from his, and 'hazel' was the right word for the puzzle but also for those gorgeous eyes staring back at him. 'Amber' worked too, though, right there where they were catching the light, and he swallowed quickly and straightened up all the way, backing up a step or two. "Anyway, um, here's your bread," he said.

"Thank you," she said, blushing a little. She smiled, only a little awkwardly, trying to return the conversation to normal. "It smells wonderful. I've got half a mind to go straight home and eat it with some butter before it cools down. Thank you," she said, placing a couple of bills on the counter.

"Have a good day," he told her as she left. He shook his head. "Nice, Grant," he said to himself. "That was smooth." He sighed, shook his head again, and returned to his crossword puzzle.

Business had slowed down as closing time got closer, so he closed up shop a little early, cleaned up, and loaded some things into a bag and got on his motorcycle. It was a nice evening for riding, and when the weather was good, he always enjoyed the country road that wound out to Jefferson's house.

"Hey, Jeff?" he called, knocking once and letting himself in. "You home?" The door was unlocked, but that didn't mean much. His best friend had a tendency to forget things like that. "Jeff?" he called again.

There was a crashing sound from the direction of the living room, and Grant stepped through the foyer and stuck his head through the door. Jefferson was standing by the window and glaring at the top hat in his hands. The crashing sound seemed to have come from the clock on the wall next to him—the glass that should have been across its face was scattered in pieces on the floor around his feet.

"Hey, are you okay?" Grant asked.

Jefferson looked up from the hat, seeing Grant for the first time. "Hey, Steve," he said, smiling in a way that looked happy to see him.

Grant smiled back, though not with his eyes. There wasn't any denying that Jeff was having a bad time of it these days—after the car accident last year where he'd lost his daughter, then Laura leaving him, it was little wonder his best friend was in such a dark place. He spiraled down pretty hard, and Grant did his best to take care of him, but he was never sure what to do when Jeff's grip on reality slipped like this. It happened on his really bad days, his insisting Grant's name was 'Steve'. Grant had no idea where that came from.

"Hey, Jeff," he said, setting down his bag and picking his way carefully across the glass. He took the hat from his friend's hand, noticing as he did so that the hand he had punched the clock with was bleeding around the knuckles. "Let's get that cleaned up, huh?"

Jeff looked down at his hand like he was seeing the blood for the first time. "Yeah. Okay." He let Grant lead him into the kitchen, then slumped down onto one of the stools by the counter, his head down in his arm.

Grant wet a cloth at the sink and started washing the blood from his friend's hand, pausing occasionally to pick out an errant piece of glass. "What happened?"

"Punched the clock," Jeff muttered into his arm, not looking up.

"Yeah, I saw. How come?"

"Stupid hat doesn't work," he said.

"I thought the hat looked good."

Jefferson snorted. "It's not about what it looks like, Steve," he said. "It's about whether or not it works."

Grant nodded. Jefferson had this fixation with the hats lately, and it gave him something to do with his hands, but he always got to rambling when he tried to explain what it was he was trying to get them to do. Grant decided not to ask and set him off again. "Sorry it didn't work," he said instead, drying his hand off. It didn't look too bad. One band-aid for that big cut in the middle ought to do it. "And it's Grant, remember?" he said gently.

Jefferson snorted again, though he lifted his head this time. "Remember," he repeated, chuckling a little manically. "That's rich, coming from you. Because you _don't_."

"I don't what?"

"You don't remember," Jefferson sighed.

"What don't I remember?" Grant wondered.

"Anything!" Jefferson insisted. "You forgot all of it—everyone forgot all of it!"

Right. He was having a worse day than Grant thought if he was on that magical forest kick again. Grant opened his mouth to say something, but Jefferson cut him off.

"I know, I know. This is the part where you tell me I'm nuts."

"I wasn't going to say that," Grant told him gently. He would never call his friend crazy—he was just hurt, and after everything he'd lost, a magical fantasy world didn't seem like the worst place to escape to.

Jefferson looked at him for a minute, then seemed to decide he believed him. "Thanks. Grant," he added, and Grant could tell he was just humoring him, but it was something. "What are you doing here?" he asked when Grant got up to wash his hands and throw the band-aid wrapper away.

"I brought you some groceries," Grant said. Eating enough was among the other things Jefferson often forgot to do. "I'm going to put them in your fridge, though, and you're going to come home and eat dinner with me," he said, stepping back into the living room to grab the bag of groceries.

"Thank you, but I'm good here," Jefferson said.

"I wasn't asking," Grant replied, putting the groceries into the sadly empty fridge. "You need to get out of this big empty house for a while." And he didn't need to be alone right now. Jefferson still looked like he wanted to argue, but Grant crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow. "You going to make me carry you to the car?"

Jefferson laughed at that, surprised but genuine. "You really haven't changed that much, have you? Alright," he said, getting to his feet. They went out to the garage—Grant made sure to lock the door behind them—and Jefferson handed over the car keys with little fuss. They drove back to the bakery, and Grant made dinner while he sent Jefferson to shower. He suspected it had been a couple of days. He loaned him a set of clothes for the night, which would be a little big on him but would do the job.

They sat down to eat dinner, and they didn't talk much, but it was mostly comfortable. The accident had left a nasty-looking scar that circled Jefferson's neck, and Grant tried very hard not to look at it—his friend usually wore a scarf to cover it, even around him, and so Grant appreciated the trust he was showing and didn't want to make him uncomfortable by staring.

Jefferson was really flagging by the time dinner was over, and it took very little prompting for him to let Grant walk him back to the bedroom and tuck him into bed. As he grabbed his pajamas off the foot of the bed and turned off the light, Grant wondered how long it had been since Jefferson had slept. Living alone in that big house really wasn't good for him. Grant had suggested a couple of times that he move in with him above the bakery—it wouldn't take too much work to renovate the space he used as an office into another bedroom—but he always turned him down. Suggestions that talking with Dr. Hopper for a little bit might help only made him angry and combative, usually culminating in a shouting match where he insisted that he wasn't crazy. All Grant could really do for his friend was keep an eye on him and keep picking him up out of the holes he fell into.

He made himself up a bed on the couch, and spent a little while watching TV before he went to sleep. He felt like…This was what he did every night—either this or read—so he didn't know why he felt like he ought to be doing something else. It took him a little while to fall asleep.

Jefferson was still asleep when Grant woke up in the morning, and he probably needed it, so he left some breakfast out for him and left him to it. The morning passed quickly as he baked and kneaded and greeted customers, and soon it had slowed down, and he got back to work on the new crossword puzzle.

"Good morning, Elizabeth," he said, looking up with a smile when the bell chimed.

"Good morning, Grant," she replied, smiling back. She crossed her arms and arched an amused eyebrow when she stopped in front of the counter. "Alright," she said. "Wednesday. What am I having?"

Grant laughed. "Well, normally Wednesday is when you order five rolls—and I've always wondered why five—but I suspect today is the day you're going to mix things up."

She sighed, still smiling. "See, I was coming in here to prove you wrong about the rolls, but now you've caught me and you're going to be right no matter which way I go."

Grant grinned.

"Fine," she sighed. "Give me the rolls. They _are_ delicious," she admitted. "But I'm also going to mix it up. What sort of cake is that?"

"Carrot."

She bit her lower lip thoughtfully, and Grant wondered how she did that without disturbing the brilliant red lipstick. "Cake at this hour seems rather indulgent," she said.

"It comes in muffins too," he said.

She smiled. "Oh, you _are_ good. I'll have one of those as well. No, no, that one there that's got more frosting."

Grant chuckled. "Sweet tooth, huh?"

"My only weakness," she said, snatching away the carrot cake muffin before it went into the box with the rolls. She swiped a finger through the icing and stuck it in her mouth. "My compliments to the chef."

"Thank you," Grant said, still smiling as he got her her change. "Can I ask about the five rolls?"

"Well," she said, swallowing down a bite of the muffin. "You've thrown off my routine with this absolutely heavenly carrot cake."

Grant smiled.

"But I can't really resist the rolls when they're so warm and fresh, so the fifth roll normally is so I have one to eat on the way to work and still leave an equal number for myself and Fred when we do our weekly Wednesday dinner."

Right. Fred. The guy down in the land office she was engaged to. "Okay," he said. "Well I guess now I know."

"Yes," she said, and something in the air was different now. "Um, yes. Right." She picked up the box of rolls and her change. "Thank you." She smiled again. "Have a lovely day."

"You too," Grant said, waving after her as she left. He sighed as something he couldn't quite identify fidgeted in his chest, then his eyes widened in surprise when he turned around and saw Jefferson standing on the stairs behind him, leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed. He hadn't heard him come down. "Oh, hey."

"Hey," Jefferson replied. He was watching Grant with more clarity in his eyes than Grant had seen in a few days, which was good, but the look he was giving him was…sad. He nodded at the door where Elizabeth had gone out. "You like her, don't you?"

"What?"

A smile quirked up one corner of Jefferson's mouth. "I've known you all your life, punk. You've got it bad for that girl."

"I…" Grant started. He sighed. "Doesn't matter," he said, picking up a rag and wiping off the counter. "She's engaged."

"Happily?" Jefferson asked.

"I…That's not really any of my business."

"It could be."

"Jeff…" Grant sighed.

Jefferson raised his hands in surrender and didn't press the issue. He still looked sad, though. "I'm gonna get going," he said. "Thank you for last night, and breakfast and everything."

"Sure. Anytime," Grant said, and he meant it. "You sure you're okay?" The sadness in his eyes was different than the kind that had been there yesterday.

"I'm alright," he assured him. He took a few steps over and rested a hand on his shoulders. "You're a good friend, Grant," he said. "Even after all of this…" He shook his head and let out a sad huff of air. "I'm glad I've still got you, man," he said.

Grant threw an arm around him, clapping him on the back a couple of times in a quick hug. "Always," he replied. He pulled back and looked him up and down, and he really did look better than yesterday. "I'll come by and check on you tomorrow, alright? I put some good meat in those groceries I got you—maybe we can go out in your yard and grill something."

"Sounds good," Jefferson replied, and there, at least, was a little smile.

"Now, you're going to eat at least once, shower, and sleep before I come over, right?" he said as Jefferson walked toward the door, smiling, but serious.

"Yes, Mom," Jefferson replied, and there was more of a smile like Grant was hoping for. "Hey," he said, pausing in the doorway. "You should hit the market this afternoon. Get some raspberries to make some tarts for tomorrow."

"Why?" Grant wondered. That seemed like an odd request. He didn't think Jefferson even liked raspberries.

"Trust me," he replied with a smirk, and then he was gone.

Still puzzled about the raspberries, Grant got back to work, then took a long lunch and hit the market down by the dock. He bought some apples for his usual Thursday morning fritters, then decided what the hell, and grabbed a box of raspberries. He didn't make a lot of tarts, since the really sweet stuff didn't usually sell early in the morning, but when Elizabeth came in after the rush on her way to the law office where she worked, her eyes lit up at the sight of them.

"Are those raspberry?" she asked.

When he nodded, she smiled like Christmas had come early. (He thought about that smile for the rest of the day.)

"Would you think me terribly greedy if I bought all two dozen?" she asked, and he laughed and boxed them up for her. Later that evening when he was cleaning up, he couldn't help but wonder how Jefferson had known.

* * *

_The Enchanted Forest_

An unexpected rainstorm had the vendors hurriedly shutting shop windows and carting their wares back inside. Steve yanked his display table back so it was at least under the awning, then started moving baskets of bread inside before they got soggy. As he spun outside to get the last one, he collided with the woman right behind him who was already carrying the basket.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, catching her waist and spinning her inside so that if either she or the bread fell, the landing would at least be a clean wooden floor instead of a mud puddle.

"That was terribly smooth, my darling," Peggy said with a wide grin, looping her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly, still holding the basket of bread in her hands. "Much more graceful than the first time that happened."

Steve laughed. Three years ago, he had met Peggy in much the same way—she was passing the bakery when a sudden rainstorm started pouring down, and she moved to help him get his bread inside, both to be helpful and also to get out of the rain herself. They had collided back then too, but Steve had definitely knocked her into the mud puddle. "Are you ever going to let me live that down?"

"No." She kissed him again and pulled away, setting the basket of bread down on a table. "Besides," she added with a grin. "How many girls can say the first time they met their husband, he literally swept them off their feet?"

Steve laughed and moved to pull the shutter down where rain was starting to drip inside. "Welcome home, by the way. I didn't think you'd be back until tomorrow."

"We had good weather," she said, dropping her bag from her shoulders. She worked as one of the legal advisors to the county magistrate, and though she was still fairly junior in her role, she was the most well-versed in the new labor laws, and had been taken along on the magistrate's trip to 'remind' some of the landholders up north of the new codes.

"Good trip?" he asked.

"Very," she replied, looking pleased. Her grin widened, as she attempted to hold further news in and play it cool, but failed utterly. "Steve, I got a promotion!"

"Hey, that's great!" he said, smiling broadly.

"The Duke of Embria was trying to get around one of the new laws with an old loophole, and the Magistrate was so impressed with the way I spotted it and knew how to correct it that he offered me a spot on the Legislation Council!"

Steve's jaw dropped. "You're kidding," he said. That was the job Peggy had been aiming for, but normal channels would have taken her several more years to get there.

She shook her head, still grinning.

He stepped over and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her soundly. "Congratulations." He rested his forehead on hers, looking down into her hazel eyes that were shot through with excited sparks of amber. "I'm so proud of you."

She kissed him back. "Thank you." She nuzzled her head into his chest and hugged him tightly. "I still almost can't believe it." She hugged him tighter, then looked up at him with a smile. "It was a wonderful trip. But I did miss you awfully."

"I missed you too," he said, kissing her forehead. "I'm glad you're home."

They stood there for a little while, holding one another and listening to the sound of the rain. When it hadn't slowed down by the time the sun started going down, Steve went ahead and closed up, though he didn't put out the ovens just yet.

"Darling, are you coming up?" Peggy called from upstairs. "I don't think anyone's coming out to buy bread in this."

"Just cleaning up," he called. "I'll be up in a minute." He finished his cleaning and pulled the pie from the oven—raspberries were Peggy's favorite, and he'd been meaning to make tarts tomorrow to welcome her home, but a congratulatory pie would work just as well tonight.

Upstairs, Peggy was cutting up bread, cheese, and ham for dinner, and the small apartment was glowing warm and welcoming in the firelight. Steve just stood there for a moment and looked at her, admiring the flashes of gold dancing through her dark hair that echoed the dancing flames on the hearth.

"Oh, you didn't need to bring any bread up," she told him, catching a glimpse of the dish in his hands. "You still had some up here."

"It's not bread," he told her, moving forward and holding out the pie so she could smell it.

"Oh," she said, a smile stretching across her face. "Have I told you lately that I adore you?"

Steve chuckled and set the pie on the table. "I mean, you're very welcome to tell me again."

She laughed and set down the cheese knife, then wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. "I adore you," she whispered in his ear. "Totally and completely, and I would even if you couldn't bake to save your life." She kissed him again. "Though you might be on the wrong career path, if that was the case."

Steve laughed. "I love you too, Peggy."

After dinner, Peggy wound up one of the music boxes she had sitting in the corner, like she did every evening, and they danced in the kitchen as the rain died down.

The sun was out the next morning, so Steve moved his bread outside for the morning shoppers. "Hi, Uncle Steve!" a little girl called, running across the square.

"Good morning, Grace!" he greeted, smiling down at her. "How are you today?"

"Very well, thank you," she said. "Papa and I came into town for market." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "We have apples this time."

"Have you, now?" Steve said, arching an eyebrow. "Well, you make sure to tell your papa to come over here with some of those apples before he sells them all."

She grinned. "Yes, sir! They're very good. Very sweet." The five-year-old's smile widened. "I got to eat one yesterday."

"He let you eat the apples? And there's still some left for market?" Steve said in mock surprise.

"Uncle Ste-eve!" she complained, though she was laughing. "I couldn't eat that many!"

"Grace?" called a voice through the crowd.

"I'm over here, Papa!" she responded. Steve could see Bucky looking for his daughter, not quite able to pinpoint her voice, so he reached over the table and hoisted her up onto his shoulders. She laughed gleefully, then waved. "Here, Papa! With Uncle Steve!"

Bucky smiled and came over. "There you are," he said. "What did I say about running off?"

"I didn't run off," she said indignantly. "I was helping you sell apples."

"That's funny," Bucky replied. "Since all the apples are here with me." He patted the pack hanging from his back.

"She was doing the advertising," Steve said, setting the little girl down. "Telling me about how nice and sweet these apples are."

"Uh huh," Grace said earnestly.

"Well, I suppose that's alright," Bucky said.

"Good morning, Grace!" Peggy said from the doorway behind them. "Hello, Bucky!"

"Hi, Aunt Peggy!" Grace greeted.

"Hey, Peggy, welcome back," Bucky said.

"Thank you," Peggy said. She crouched down a little and grinned at Grace. "Why don't you come in? I've brought you something from my trip."

Grace squeaked happily and hurried inside.

"How are you doing?" Steve asked. He hadn't seen him in about a week.

"Not bad," Bucky said, hitching up the bag around his shoulders. "Listen, you don't have to buy apples just because Grace—"

"I need apples for the fritters and tarts," Steve told him. "It's not charity, Buck." Neither of them had ever been good at accepting charity, but they'd had each other's backs since they'd been little kids running around in the forest.

Bucky nodded with a small smile, and swung the bag of apples off his back. "How many do you want?"

Steve picked out his apples, and Grace came hurrying outside with butter smeared around her mouth. "Come inside, Papa!" she said. "Aunt Peggy invited us to lunch! There's bread with butter and raspberry pie!" She rushed back inside.

"I can assure you, Grace did not invite herself to lunch," Steve said, not looking up from picking his apples, but knowing the expression that was on Bucky's face. "Peggy hasn't seen her in two weeks—I'm surprised she's not just kidnapping her for a couple of nights."

Bucky huffed a laugh. They both knew Peggy was absolutely besotted with her adopted niece. "She really must have missed her if she's sharing her raspberries," he said with a grin.

They all went in and had lunch together, and they played with Grace and laughed and listened to Peggy's stories from her trip. After the meal, Bucky and Grace left to sell the rest of the apples in the market, and Steve gave them several loaves of bread in exchange for the apples he'd taken. Peggy leaned against his shoulder and sighed as they waved them off.

"I do wish he'd let us help more," she said. Bucky had given up his portal-jumping when Priscilla died, and while Steve was glad about that for the sake of his friend's safety, that had also meant giving up the lucrative contracts that came with the job. He and Grace were doing alright, but not as well as Steve knew he would have liked to have been doing.

"I know," he sighed. "But you know he would if he really needed it." If Grace got sick, or if he wasn't able to get her enough to eat, Steve knew his best friend wouldn't hesitate to ask for help then. "He's kind of stubborn."

Peggy snorted. "That's a bit rich, coming from you."

Steve looked down at her and raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me? I'm not the one who annoyed the deputy to the point of being banned from the marketplace for a month."

"He was ignoring the law about tariffs owed by street vendors, and that old woman had already paid double what she owed! That wasn't stubbornness," Peggy insisted. "That was standing up to injustice."

"Stubbornly standing up to injustice," Steve said with a smile, kissing her forehead.

"Are we ignoring the time you punched that magician who was selling things and giving out change that disappeared after two hours? Most people foolish enough to punch a magician in the first place and subsequently be turned into a goose for their trouble would have run away, but you proceeded to chase him down the alley biting him in the leg."

"He turned me into a goose!" Steve replied. "That's, like, the most aggressive of all birds. He should have expected that."

Peggy giggled into his shoulder. "Well, at least we're happily stubborn together."

"Very happily," Steve agreed, and kissed her.

* * *

_1989_

"Hi, Elizabeth," Grant said, looking up as the bell above the door rang. "Don't usually see you here in the afternoons."

"No," she said, and she wasn't smiling like she had been this morning.

"Is everything alright?" he wondered.

She sighed. "Oh, it was just a hard day at work."

"What happened?"

"You don't want to hear about it," she sighed.

"If that was true, I wouldn't have asked," he said.

A little smile quirked up one corner of her mouth. "Alright." She leaned onto the counter. "It's the mayor's office. You remember last month, there was that thing in paper about the new docking regulations for the harbor?"

Grant had to think back for a minute. "I think so."

Elizabeth smiled. "I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. It was hardly interesting. Anyway, the gist was there were some old rules in place that were to the detriment of some of the lower-income fishermen. The rules were proved to be unjust, and the city had to make restitutions. Mayor Mills," she said, pausing significantly. "Did not come out of it looking as good as she could have. I was the lead on that case, and I am currently, totally coincidentally, I'm sure, being audited for possible mismanagement of city funds in my office."

Grant's jaw dropped. "Well, that's…bold." He wasn't a big fan of Mayor Mills—she did run an orderly town, but she was…well, she ran that orderly town with a very tight fist. He intended to place his vote elsewhere next year.

Elizabeth huffed a humorless smile. "It is that, though perfectly legal. I suspect it's a warning to mind my own business. I keep impeccable records, so I'm not actually worried about the end result, but, well…" She sighed. "There's going to be something about it in the paper tomorrow. My name will be attached, and once it's all over, there will be a report stating all is well, but no one ever really remembers the correction as well as they remember the scandal, do they?"

Grant frowned. "I'm sorry. That's…" He couldn't remember the Mayor having done anything like this before, but he'd been going to say that it wasn't unexpected.

Elizabeth nodded. "So, yes, that was my day. And I suppose I'm here because…" An embarrassed smile played around the corners of her mouth. "Stress-eating, I think they call it. I was hoping for something warm and delicious and fresh from the oven."

Grant smiled. "Well, if you're okay with waiting about fifteen minutes, I can help with that. Chocolate chip cookies were about to go into the oven."

"I can wait for that," she said with a smile.

Grant smiled and went back to the kitchen, reforming a few of the balls of dough so they would contain larger chunks of chocolate. He popped them into the oven, then boiled some water. "Would you like something to drink while you wait for the cookies?" he asked, coming out with a cup of tea. "Black tea with honey."

He supposed he should have asked how she took it first, but he was oddly unsurprised when she looked up with a smile. "That's just how I like it," she said. "Thank you." She flushed a little. "I hope you don't mind that I filled in a couple of words on your crossword for you. I think for seventeen across, the five-letter word you want for 'brown' is 'hazel'."

Hazel, just like her eyes. Grant shook his head and handed her the teacup, looking down at the puzzle. "Yeah, that does look like it fits there," he said. That meant fourteen down could be 'hazard', which fit in nicely. "Thanks."

He left her to his puzzle, then came out a few minutes later with a plate of cookies. "Oh, those smell divine," she said. He set the plate down on the counter, then lifted one of the stools over for her to sit on. He sat down on his side of the counter and picked up a cookie of his own. They chatted amiably for a few minutes, and it took very little prompting for her to tell him more about the case with the harbor and the audit.

"Well," he said. "It really sounds to me like you did the right thing with the case. I know some of the guys who work at the docks, and they're having a little easier time paying their rent now. Sorry it came back and bit you like that, though."

She shrugged, breaking the last cookie in half and handing one of the halves to him. "I rather think the Mayor is hoping this will remind me of my place. But I've done nothing wrong and I don't intend to be cowed."

Grant smiled. "It takes guts standing up to the people in charge. I'm proud of you." He winced a little internally after he said that—that felt like a touch too intimate of a thing to say, but she smiled back.

"Thank you. And I intend to keep standing." She smiled, picked a couple of crumbs off the plate and stood up. "I should be going. Thank you, Grant. I didn't mean to unload all my problems on you, but I do appreciate the sympathetic ear."

"Sure," Grant said. "I'm glad I could help."

"You did," she assured him. "Much more than…Well, Fred would just say it's the cost of going up against the city." She caught herself. "That's not to say he…" Color rose in her cheeks. "I'm not sure why I said that. I'm sorry. But you really did help. Thank you."

Grant wiped down the counter thoughtfully as she left. He closed up a little later, realized he might have the bakery well-stocked but his own fridge could use a trip to the grocery store, and headed to Granny's Diner for dinner. After he ate, he walked down to the harbor and watched the sun set over the water.

"Hey, Grant," came a voice from one of the benches down the way. He turned and saw Jefferson sitting there.

"Hey," he said. He walked over to where his friend was sitting. "How's it going?"

Jefferson shrugged. He was doing better since the accident last year. His bad days seemed to be coming farther apart, and while he did tend to wallow in apathy most of the time, Grant figured as far as coping mechanisms went, that was healthier than creating some sort of fantasy world to slip in to. It had been almost three months since he'd called him Steve.

"Something bugging you?" Jefferson asked.

Grant sighed and sat down beside him. "Maybe?"

"What's up?"

"Just…" He shook his head. "I was talking to Elizabeth today." He recounted for Jefferson her second visit to the bakery for the day and what they had talked about. "And, you know," he finished. "I'm glad I could listen, and help her out and everything. But then she said something about how her fiancé would have just told her it was the cost of going up against the city, and I…" He sighed. "This is the sort of thing she should be able to talk about with him, not me, but it sort of sounds like she thinks maybe he wouldn't care, and…well, he _should_ care."

Jefferson nodded. "And you're wondering why she's with a guy who doesn't care?"

"What? No. Well, yeah, actually, but that's… Why should I get to make judgement calls about their relationship? That's not cool."

"She's the one who brought it up, though," Jefferson pointed out.

"I know," Grant sighed. He slumped down a little more on the bench. "I just…While we were talking, just sitting there and eating cookies, I was glad she was talking to me instead of him. It felt right. And it felt…familiar. Like I've done it before. Like sitting across from her and trying to help her figure things out is where I'm supposed to be."

Jefferson was smiling. "Maybe it is."

"No," Grant sighed. "It's not. Because she's with somebody else. And however right and familiar and whatever it felt like, _why_ did it feel that way? I've never done that with her before. It sounds crazy even saying it."

"Maybe. Maybe not," Jefferson allowed. "You've got it bad for her, man. You always have."

"I think 'always' is a little strong. I've only known her for, what, a year?"

Jefferson huffed an amused laugh.

"What?"

"A year," he repeated, chuckling to himself. "Sure. Just a year." He was laughing a little harder now, slightly hysterical.

"Jeff?" Grant asked, and for some reason, that only made him laugh harder.

"Right," he said, still chuckling. "Right. I'm Jeff, and it's only been a year. Just one. One year."

"Why is that funny?" Grant wondered.

"Oh, it's not," Jefferson said. "But it's either this or screaming."

"Jeff," Grant began, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm fine," Jefferson said, and though he was still laughing a little bit, he _did_ look lucid. "Fine as I can be." He shook his head as the laughter died away. "Seriously, though, you should go for it with her."

Grant sighed. Jefferson had been bringing this up a lot. "Okay, maybe I do have a crush on her," Grant admitted. "But it'll pass. Why are you so hung up on this?"

"Because you should be with her."

"She is _engaged_."

"Yeah. Engaged. Not married. And they see each other once a week for dinner—it's the most boring engagement in the world."

"It's still wrong," Grant protested. "She loves him."

"Does she?"

"Why would she be engaged to him if she doesn't?"

Jefferson chuckled. "All kinds of reasons."

"Yeah, well, even if that's true, they're her reasons."

"Grant," Jefferson said, all traces of laughter gone. "You. Belong. With her. It's just…" He waved a hand out at the harbor. "Everything's wrong here. Everything. And if you and her were together, it would be one thing right." He looked over at him. "You said yourself that it felt right."

Grant opened his mouth to argue, but found he couldn't.

"Just…" Jefferson pushed himself to his feet with a deep sigh, then patted him on the shoulder. "Just think about it." He walked back to his car before Grant could think of anything to say.

Grant didn't sleep very well that night, and when he woke up for what felt like the fortieth time at a quarter to five, he decided to just give up and go ahead and get out of bed. He got things going in the bakery, and while the usual bread and muffins and rolls were baking, he heard the newspaper land on his porch and went out to get it. Instead of starting at the beginning and working his way through, like he usually did, he flipped through looking for any mention of Elizabeth's law office. It was there on page three, and while he was grateful on her behalf that it had avoided the front page, it was still fairly scathing. In a way, he almost had to admire the way the unnamed writer (he wanted to say it was the editor, Sidney Glass, himself, but he couldn't say why) made no actual accusations of any wrongdoing, but still left the reader with the sense that Elizabeth could hardly have done anything _but_ misappropriate city funds. He sighed and snapped the paper shut, then went back to the kitchen.

He came out every time the bell rang and greeted all his usual customers—Granny liked his rolls for breakfast as a change of pace from her own cooking, the sisters had a standing order for fruit pastries, Dr. Whale always bought three blueberry bagels, and Mr. Gold was in most every morning, though Grant hadn't pinned down his routine orders yet. After Mary Margaret came through to pick up her special order of cupcakes for her class, things quieted down. It was past the time Elizabeth normally came in, and he had a hard time pretending he wasn't worried.

She didn't come in all day, so after the lunch and afternoon shoppers quieted down, he cleaned up and closed up, packed up what he'd been working on in the kitchen, and got on his motorcycle.

It wasn't until he was standing outside the door of her apartment that it occurred to him to wonder why he was doing this. This was probably over-stepping things a little. But, as much as he might otherwise have liked to, he wasn't making a move here, or anything. She was his friend, and he suspected she'd had a hard day, and giving people food was his first response in an emotional crisis. Besides, he'd already knocked anyway.

The door opened, and Elizabeth was standing there in a pair of pajamas. Grant realized she probably hadn't been in to work today, and he was intruding and she was in pajamas, which made this a little more intimate than he'd been intending. He could feel color rising in his cheeks.

"Grant!" she said, surprised. "Hello. What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to see if you were okay," he said. "I saw the paper this morning."

"Yes," she frowned. "Very cleverly written, didn't you think?"

"It certainly was… persuasive," he agreed. She sighed and he hurried on. "And ridiculously one-sided. It was all conjecture, and, Elizabeth, anyone who knows you will know it's not true."

She did smile at that. "Thank you." She stepped back a little. "Would you like to come in? I'm being terribly rude leaving you out here in the hall."

He stepped inside, and she shut the door behind him. "Would you like some tea?" she offered. "I was just making some."

"Sure," he said. "Thank you." She went back into the kitchen, and he stood a little awkwardly in her living room. He looked around while he waited. It was a cozy little room, with flowers in vases on the end tables, and various books with dog-eared bookmarks sticking out of them scattered around. She had a shelf with framed photographs on it, and he took a step closer to look. There was one of her and a girl he'd seen around the community theater whose name he thought was Angie, one of her with a group of friends in a booth at Granny's Diner, and one of her on a boat that he recognized as part of the community sail races last year. There were none of Fred, which struck Grant as a little odd. Maybe Jefferson was right about things not being great between them. He shook his head. That was none of his business, and he felt kind of like he was snooping, so he turned away from the photographs and looked at the rest of the room.

"So, you like music boxes, huh?" he said when she came back in. Two shelves were full of them, in a wide range of colors and sizes and designs.

"Yes," she said, stepping over to join him. "I've collected them ever since I was a little girl."

"They're really pretty," he said.

She grinned. "Except for that one?" she asked, pointing at a very tacky-looking one in one corner that was covered all over with seashells.

"I wasn't going to say that," he said, though he had been looking at it. It looked out of place among the other, more elegant ones.

She chuckled. "It has sentimental value," she said. "I've had it the longest. And it plays rather a lovely tune." She held up a cup. "Tea?"

He accepted the cup, sitting down in the chair she waved him toward. "Thank you," he said. It was lightly sweet, with a hint of lemon, and he didn't remember telling her that was how he liked it, but maybe she'd seen him drinking it that way in the shop before. The lemon was an easy smell to pick up.

"So," she said, curling her legs up into her chair and cradling her hands around her own cup of tea. "You really came all this way just to see if I was alright?"

"Well, _all_ this way might be overstating things," he said. "You do live two blocks away." She smiled. "But, yeah," he finished.

Her smile softened. "Thank you. That's very…That was very thoughtful of you." She sighed. "And it was a trying day." She took a long sip of her tea. "As you might have noticed," she said, nodding down at her pajamas. "I didn't go in to work today. I was asked to stay home so they could run their audit without me in the way."

Grant nodded. He figured it had been something like that.

"They're free to do so, of course," she went on. "Though it does rather make it seem more serious this way."

"Do you think…" Grant started. He didn't want to worry her more, but if the Mayor's office had proved they were willing to play dirty, then there wasn't much point underestimating them. "You said yesterday how you kept impeccable records, but do you think they wanted you home so they could…fudge them if they wanted to?"

"That did occur to me, yes," she said. She nodded at a box on the floor by his chair. "That's why I made copies of everything."

She laughed when he looked over at the box in surprise. "Oh, I've been doing that for years," she said. "My father got me in the habit when I was young—said it was good business practice. Turns out, he was right."

Grant smiled. "They've obviously underestimated you."

"It happens," she said. "I've always come out on top in the end." She sighed. "It doesn't necessarily make the waiting easier."

"That reminds me," Grant said, leaning down to pick up the box he'd set by his feet. "Here."

"What's this?" she asked, reaching over and taking it.

He shrugged. "I was going to give it to you this morning when you came in—I figured it might be tough with that hitting the papers today."

She opened the box and let out a tiny gasp of surprise. Inside was a small raspberry cheesecake, with drizzles of raspberry jam and chocolate across the top. "You made this for me?" she asked.

He nodded. "I thought…" He knew what he wanted to say, but he suddenly couldn't figure out how without feeling stupid. "I wanted to remind you you weren't in this alone. I'm not so much with the legal expertise, but I can be a friend. And I guess I communicate in food, so…" He nodded at the cake.

She stared at it for a moment longer, and maybe it was just the lighting in the room, but he thought her eyes might have been glistening just a little when she looked up. "Thank you," she said softly. "That was very…No one has ever done anything like that for me before." She smiled warmly. "That was very kind of you, Grant." She reached over and squeezed his hand briefly. "I could use a friend right now."

"Well, then, I'm glad I'm here," he told her.

They finished their tea in companionable silence, then chatted for a little while—not about the audit or how it might turn out, but just smaller things. She told him about the books she was reading, and he told her about the cute little kids who'd come into the bakery that afternoon. They talked about what was happening on _Dallas_ , and he found out she was a big fan of _Quantum Leap_. It was late when he left, but she was smiling, and he didn't mind riding home in the dark, something warm purring happily in his chest.

* * *

_The Enchanted Forest_

Steve stood his ground when the officer across the table from him cleared his throat, resisting the urge to ask if there was some kind of problem. He knew the soldier was just trying to intimidate him with his silence, and it took more than that to shake him. He stayed where he was, a patient expression on his face, and the other man went on with his counting, sliding one coin at a time agonizingly slowly from one pile to another as he counted out the gold.

After what felt like hours later, he looked up, stared at Steve for a long moment, then grunted. "All there," he declared. Once again, very slowly, he began to move, reaching for a parchment and quill, and Steve bit down the urge to growl in frustration. He had to be doing this on purpose. Still, he kept his breathing under control and his not-quite-smile pleasant, listening to the scratching of the quill as the soldier wrote out a receipt. He finally dropped some wax over the signature and stamped his seal down into it. "This way," he said, snatching up the paper and a ring of keys and moving out from behind his desk.

Steve followed the officer down a narrow stone hallway. It was a little chilly, but it was fairly well-lit, and it was dry. He'd been picturing something gloomy and damp, but then, his experience with prisons was fairly limited. That was probably a good thing. His escort stopped in front of a barred door, and Steve's breath caught in his throat as he looked inside. "Peggy!"

She was sitting on a bench along the back wall, and though she looked a little mussed, she didn't look hurt. Her hands were folded in her skirt, but Steve could see the bands of the shackles on her wrists. She smiled when she saw him, but she got to her feet slowly, eyeing the guard beside him a little warily.

The soldier made quite a show of searching for the right key and opening the door. He beckoned Peggy forward, making the sort of noise one might make to summon a dog as he did so, and the only thing keeping Steve from knocking him unconscious was the knowledge that it would just land Peggy back in the cell and him in one right next to her. "Hands," the guard growled at her.

She held out her wrists, and he undid the cuffs, then put a hand on her shoulder and shoved her forward. Steve automatically put out his hands to catch her as she stumbled. "All sorted, then," the officer said. He handed the receipt to Steve, who stuffed it down into the pocket of his coat. "Best keep your woman in line, sir," he said, in the tone of someone offering incredibly helpful advice. "Bail gets pricier with repeat visits."

Peggy looked very much like she wanted to say something, but Steve slid his arm over her shoulder and turned toward the exit. "I'll do that, Sir," he said through gritted teeth and a painfully fake smile. Peggy turned her death glare on him, but at least she waited until they were outside to say anything.

"You're going to keep me in line?" she said icily.

"Well, what was I supposed to say?" he replied, far snappier than he meant to. He'd been up worried all night, and after dealing with bankers and guards and officers of the law who seemed to be trying to prod him into doing something stupid so they could arrest him too, his emotions were stretched dangerously thin. "I was just trying to get us out of there! If I'd said what I wanted to, we would have each had a cell of our own, and we don't have the money to bail both of us out!"

She looked away, and he sighed deeply, regretting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. "You're angry," she said softly.

"Yeah," he sighed. He slid his hand into hers and looked down at her. "But not at you." She looked up, and he smiled apologetically. "I've been wanting to punch that soldier in the mouth for the past half hour. I shouldn't have let all that explode all over you. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," she said. She squeezed his hand. "There wasn't really any other way to handle it. You've got a much cooler head than I have." She went up on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

He nodded and smiled back. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Did they hurt you?"

"No," she said. "They shoved me around a bit, that's all."

"What about your wrists?" he asked, nodding down at where the cuffs had been.

Her right hand reached over and touched her left sleeve. "A bit sore," she admitted.

"Can I see?" he asked.

"Wait until we get home," she said. She sighed. "I really am sorry about all this. I had no idea when it started—"

"Peggy, it's okay," he told her. In the past couple of years, the queen's hold on the kingdom had gotten tighter. Stricter laws were going into place, fines were swift to be enforced and grace was slow and rare to be given. When taxes had gone up in the village for the second time that year, the citizens had begun to protest. Peggy and the rest of the Legislation Council had gone through the national laws and found the limitations on how often taxes could be raised. Regina's court had responded with a new law to supersede the old one, stating the raising of taxes were the monarch's prerogative. Some of the members had backed off then, but Peggy had dug deep, and when she found other regulations that laid out the guidelines for changing the tax laws (an action that required approval from the governors of each state), several of them had stood with her and they'd pushed back. All eleven of them had been arrested.

"You did the right thing," he told her. They stopped on their doorstep and he kissed her warmly before digging into his pocket for the key. "I'm proud of you."

She shifted a bit uncomfortably. "It didn't do much good, though, did it? The new taxes are still in place and the Magistrate's office is closed for the foreseeable future."

"It doesn't matter," he said, ushering her inside. "You fought something that needed to be fought, and people saw that. They're going to remember that next time. And maybe more of them will stand up too." He hugged her against his chest. "I'm proud of you," he said again. He kissed the top of her head. "So proud."

She tilted her head up to look at him, and she was smiling. "Thank you, darling." She pulled her arms out of where he was holding her so she could wrap them around his waist. "Was it awful, last night?" she asked.

He nodded. One of the clerks from the office had come to give him the news, but it hadn't been until well after sunset, and it was too late to do anything. "I didn't find out until it was too late to come last night." He hugged her a little tighter. "Bartholomew said they didn't hurt you, but I was really worried."

"I'm sorry," she said, stretching up to kiss his jaw. "I rather think they planned that—not coming for us until the end of the day. Making everyone wait longer just to prove their point." She nuzzled her head into his chest. "Was it terribly expensive, bailing me out?"

"We might have to cut meat out of the grocery bill for a little while, but we can take the hit," he said quietly, kissing the top of her head and glad she couldn't see his face—his eyes always gave him away when he lied. "Don't worry about it." The truth would have to come out before too long, but he didn't want her to feel worse than she already did.

He locked up the front door—there was no bread to sell today anyway—and they went upstairs. She sat down at the table by the fire and rolled up her sleeves so he could look at her wrists. Pain twisted in his stomach at the thought of someone hurting her, but he just put some water on to heat, then washed the red, chafed skin gently, rubbed in some ointment, and wrapped bandages around her wrists.

"There," he said, kissing the back of her hand.

"Thank you," she said.

"You want to talk about it?" he asked.

She sighed. "I don't know what I'm going to do now. I'm out of a job, and when the Magistrate's office does open again…" She sighed. "I doubt very much that any of the old employees will be hired back."

"Probably not," Steve agreed. "Regina does enjoy making a point." There had been enough public cases over the past couple of years to prove the Queen's vindictive streak.

"And I'm sure I'll find something to do, I just…" She sighed. "This was my life."

Steve reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "I know. And I'm so sorry. But there are other ways to stand up to her. You'll find them. And I'll be right there with you."

A smile curved up the corners of her lips. "Thank you."

He got up to make them some tea, hers with honey and his with a bit of lemon, and she went to clean up a little bit. He finished the tea as she was coming out of the bedroom, but that smile that had been on her face was gone.

"What's wrong?" he asked, setting the tea down on the table.

"You said it was a hit we could take," she said quietly. She held up a piece of paper that Steve recognized as the receipt from the jail. "I went to hang your coat up and this fell out," she said by way of explanation. She looked up at him, worry swimming in her eyes. "Steve, where did you get the money for this?"

Steve sighed and walked over to her. The amount on the receipt leered up at him, a number far larger than he knew it should have been. Regina had been trying to make a point. "I took out a loan on the bakery," he said quietly.

She gasped softly. "Steve…" She swallowed hard. "Darling, I'm sorry. I'm so, _so_ sorry."

"No, Peggy, it's okay," he said, sliding his arms around her as tears sprang to her eyes.

She shook her head even as she folded into the embrace. "But, Steve, you…You worked so hard." It had been his dream to own the bakery since he'd been old enough to work, and he'd spent years making payments until it was finally his name on the deed. She sniffed. "You love this bakery."

"I do," he agreed. He hugged her tighter. "I love you more." She sniffed again and he pressed a kiss into her hair. "I didn't hesitate," he told her. He put two fingers under her chin and tilted her head up gently to look at him. "My bakery or the love of my life? It wasn't even a choice." He kissed her forehead softly. "And I'm never going to resent you for that."

"Steve, I…"

"You really think I would have left you there in that cell if I had a way to get you out?" he asked gently. The thought of her being there for even that single night was unbearable enough.

"No," she said softly. "I'm just sorry to have put you in that position." She sniffed again. "And now with me out of a job, we're in an even tighter spot, and…" She sighed heavily. "I'm so sorry, darling."

"Don't be," he told her. "I would have given up the world if it would keep you by my side. And I'd do it with a smile." He leaned down and rested his forehead on hers, staring deep into her watery hazel eyes. "I love you, Peggy. With every beat of my heart. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

The tears pooling in her eyes trickled out, but she smiled at him. "Thank you," she whispered.

They stood there for a long time just holding each other.

"Hey," he said softly. She tilted her head up to look at him. "I know this isn't exactly how we thought we'd be spending our anniversary…" She huffed a semi-amused snort at that, and a smile quirked up one side of his mouth. "But I did get you a present."

"Aside from bailing me out of prison?" she asked with a small smile.

"Yes," he said. He kissed her forehead and pulled away. "Wait here a minute." He went back into their bedroom and dug to the bottom of the trunk they kept their winter clothes in. He'd found this almost a month ago and had been saving it.

He walked back into the main room and pulled out the little music box he'd been hiding behind his back. "Now," he began a little sheepishly. "I know it's not much to look at."

Peggy couldn't suppress a small giggle. "I'm sorry," she said. "You got me a gift, and I shouldn't be laughing at it."

Steve laughed. "Go ahead and laugh," he said. "It's really ugly." The music box was simple dark wood, and he suspected it was good-quality wood, but it was hard to tell, as it had been covered over with a wide variety of seashells. Their placement was not artistic, nor did it follow any sort of pattern, but seemed more like the sort of design a small child might have arranged.

"It is," Peggy agreed, laughing a bit more freely now that he'd made it clear he wouldn't be offended. She took it from him and turned it in her hands, looking it over. "There's really just not a good angle for it, is there?"

"No," Steve agreed with a smile. "But I didn't get it for the aesthetics."

"Well, I should hope not," she teased.

Steve gestured at the little key in the back, and she wound it up, her amused smile softening as the music started to play.

"Oh," she breathed. "That's the song they played at our wedding."

"Mm-hmm," Steve nodded, warm happiness expanding in his heart at the look on her face.

"Oh, Steve," she whispered. She set the box down on the table next to their cold cups of tea and went up on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him soundly. "Thank you," she said. She kissed him again.

"You're welcome," he said, hugging her closer. "Thanks for marrying me."

She laughed and pulled away from him, winding the music box back to the start. "May I have the pleasure of this dance?" she said, taking his hands in hers.

"This one and all my other dances," he said, joining her in swaying across the floor. He wasn't sure what the future held from here, but he knew he could face it as long as they faced it together.

* * *

_1998_

_(This section contains a content warning for a brief, non-detailed mention of a past failed suicide attempt. If you want to avoid it, skip over the section where Bucky/Jefferson is in the bathtub starting at the line that ends "...even his fantasy world was filled with loss." to where Grant asks "What resets?".)_

Grant stomped the mud off his boots and let himself into Jefferson's house which was, again, unlocked. "Jeff?" he called, shaking the raindrops off his coat as he hung it by the door and brushed his hair back down. "Jeff? You here, buddy?" The house was dark even though evening was falling, and it smelled sort of musty. How long had it been since his friend had been outside, or even opened a window?

"Jeff?" he called a little louder, and this time there was an answering clatter of pots and pans from the direction of the kitchen. Grant followed the noise, flipping on a couple of lights as he did so. Rounding the corner into the kitchen and turning on the light, he saw Jefferson slouched in an untidy heap on the floor against the cabinets. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked, rushing over.

Jefferson squinted up into the light, then blinked and grinned as his eyes landed on Grant. "Steve!" he said happily. "Hey, Stevie. Hey. 's good to see you."

By this time, Grant was close enough to him to catch the smell of alcohol that was rolling off of him in a wave. He sighed. "Have you been drinking again?"

"'Course," Jefferson snorted. "'s a stupid question. 'M always drinking. What else've I got to do?"

"How about not drink yourself to death at twenty-nine?" he replied, pulling a mostly empty bottle out of his unresisting hand. For some reason, Jefferson found this very funny. He snorted, and Grant caught some mumbling about twenty-nine as Jefferson slumped down even farther, giggling. "I don't see why that's so funny."

"'Course you don't," Jefferson said. "Don' worry about it. You wouldn' get it anyhow."

"Okay. You want to get off the floor?"

Jefferson shrugged, clearly not caring, and Grant sighed and got his hands under his arms and pulled him to his feet. "Come on, buddy. Up we go," he coaxed. He coughed as Jefferson's head lolled on his neck and flopped closer to his. "Dude, you smell disgusting," he said.

"You want a drink?" Jefferson offered. "You get drunk with me, the smell won't bother you."

"No," Grant said. "Come on." Propping Jefferson against him and taking all of his friend's weight, Grant made his way out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He didn't say anything as they walked, because he didn't want to snap. It had been eighteen months since the accident where Jefferson lost his daughter, and Grant knew things like that took a long time to heal. He wasn't angry at his best friend's chosen method of dealing with the pain, he just wished it wasn't so self-destructive. He wasn't mad at Jeff, but he was mad that he didn't know how to help.

Grant steered them into the bathroom and sat Jefferson down on the edge of the bathtub. He took off Jefferson's shoes, socks, and scarf, then Jefferson wobbled backwards and swatted at his hand. "What're you takin' my pants off for?" he grumbled.

"Because you need a bath," Grant said, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady him before he fell into the tub.

"'m forty-four years old, Steve," he huffed. "I c'n take my own pants off."

"Go ahead," Grant said, ignoring the first half of that statement. Jefferson's other preferred method of coping seemed to be slipping off into some kind of fantasy world where (among other things) Grant's name was Steve, and it made a weird mix with the alcohol. Grant kept a hand on Jefferson's shoulder to keep him from falling over while he divested himself of the rest of his clothes. He slid clumsily down into the tub, and Grant got the hot water running. Neither of them said anything until the tub was full and he turned the water off.

"You want to talk about it?" Grant asked gently, working soap onto a clean washcloth.

Jefferson sniffed. "'s just getting' so _hard_ ," he moaned, propping his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands.

Grant started rubbing the warm, soapy cloth across Jefferson's back, but said nothing, giving his friend space to pull his words together.

"I keep thinkin'," Jefferson said thickly. He sniffed again. "I keep thinkin' it has to get better," he said. "That after this long, it…it would go away. Or maybe even…Maybe even, I'd get used to it." He sniffed again. "Wouldn' be the worst thing," he mumbled. "Least it wouldn't hurt so much."

"I'm sorry, man," Grant said. "I know a year and a half seems like a long time, but—"

He was cut off by a snort from Jefferson. "Right," he said. He looked up then, rolling his head to turn red, weary, miserable eyes to meet Grant's. "It hasn' been a year," he said. "'s been _fifteen_."

"Fifteen?" Grant asked. "Since what?"

"Since everything went wrong," Jefferson explained.

Grant sighed sadly. He must have slipped really far away this time. "Jeff, the accident was eighteen months ago," he said gently.

To his surprise, Jefferson started laughing again. "Steve," he said, like he was explaining something obvious. "There was never an accident. That's just part of…" He trailed off like he couldn't find the words he wanted.

"Jeff," Grant began.

"And my name is Bucky," Jefferson cut him off. "You been callin' me Jeff for fifteen years, an' I wish you'd stop."

"Okay," Grant said. His friend was in no fit state to argue right now, so he would humor him. "Bucky. I'm not really following you. Can you explain what happened fifteen years ago?"

Jefferson snorted. "Y're not gonna believe me."

"I'm just trying to understand," Grant told him gently.

Jefferson studied him for a moment. "Fine," he sighed. "Why the hell not?" He sighed and leaned back into his knees again, and Grant took the opportunity to start washing his hair while his eyes were shielded from the dripping soap, mindful of the scar ringing Jefferson's neck that was still kind of tender.

"Fifteen years ago," Jefferson said. "The curse happened. I don't know what the hell Regina did, but she cursed everybody an' brought 'em here."

"Regina?" Grant asked. "You mean Mayor Mills?"

"Uh huh," Jefferson replied, not looking up. "'cept she was a queen then. Guess she kinda downgraded when she set up here." He snorted to himself as if the thought was mildly amusing. "Anyhow, we got cursed and pulled into this stupid world tha's got no magic, an' everybody forgot. Everybody got a whole new life. 'cept me. Don' know why I didn' forget too." He sighed deeply. "Wish to God I did." He was quiet for a minute. "An' now we're stuck," he sighed. "'s been Fifteen years. Fifteen years of no one rememberin', an' nothin' changin', an' everybody thinkin' I'm crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy," Grant said softly.

Jefferson looked up at him then, and he smiled sadly. "You really mean that, don' you? Even though you don' believe me. Thanks."

"So," Grant went on, trying to prompt a little more of the story out of him. "When you say everyone forgot…"

"I mean everyone had some other kind of life. Your name was Steve, an' you were married to Peggy."

"Who's Peggy?" Grant wondered.

"You call her 'Lizabeth now," Jefferson said.

A light bulb went on in Grant's head. If this was what Jefferson thought, no wonder he was always trying to get Grant to get together with Elizabeth.

"'n Grace wasn't dead," Jefferson went on. "Her mom was," he added softly. "But that was a long time ago. It was me and Grace, and we were happy. Lived out in the forest. Sold apples and mushrooms in the market. Things like that." He sniffed and drew a hand across his nose. "You had a bakery, same as here. Lived in the village with Peggy." He smiled up at him. "You an' me were still friends. Grew up together." He sighed. "Glad I got to keep that."

Grant nodded, taking this all in.

"Grace still isn' dead," Jefferson continued. "She's alive, an' she's here, 'cept she's not with me." He sniffed again, moisture pooling in his eyes. "Thinks her name is Paige now. Doesn' know who I am. Thinks someone else is her dad," he finished, barely a whisper.

"Aw, Jeff," Grant said sadly.

"Bucky," Jefferson snapped. "That's my real name."

"Sorry," Grant said. "Bucky. Keep going."

"Don' know why I remember it all," he sighed. "Sometimes, I think I might be getting' better at it. An' sometimes, I think the curse has _got_ to lift, because, fifteen years, tha's a long time. But then…" He sighed heavily. "Then it jus' hits me how _long_ it's been, an' how nothin's changin', an'…It jus' hurts too much, so I go an' drink 'til it doesn't." He sniffed sadly. "Hasn' actually worked yet," he admitted. "But sometimes I get drunk enough to pass out, an' that works for a little while."

Grant sighed deeply. How much pain did his best friend have to be in that even his fantasy world was filled with loss?

"Don' worry about that, though," Jefferson said. "'m not gonna drink myself to death. Can't."

"What do you mean?" Grant wondered.

"Mean I can't die," Jefferson said. "Spell won't let me. I tried."

"What?" Grant whispered.

"Got low," Jefferson said. "Few years ago. Couldn' take it anymore an' slit my wrists." He held up an arm to a horrified Grant for inspection. "Won't let me forget, but won't let me go. Don' even have scars from it." Grant couldn't think of anything to say, and Jefferson lowered his arm back into the water. "Don' have to worry 'bout liver damage either. Everything resets tomorrow anyway. I'll be good as new."

"What resets?" Grant asked. He wanted to get back to the suicide thing, but Jefferson just kept going.

"Everything," Jefferson said. "The spell." He looked up at him shrewdly. "Why do you still think I'm twenty-nine? Or that this 'accident' was only a year and a half ago? 's because Regina has to keep resetting the spell. Or maybe it does it on its own; I don' know. Don' think she has magic here either. But everything always resets at the end of June. Don' know why it picked June," he said thoughtfully, as if that had always bothered him. "But it'll start over. We'll all go on just like we always have been, nobody getting any older, an' nobody getting out, an' no one will notice." He cocked an eyebrow at him. "We've had this conversation before, y'know."

"We have?"

"Mm. Five times. But then the spell resets an' you forget." He sighed. "'s weird, though. Everybody forgets time passes, but still remembers parts of it. Like, remember when 'Lizabeth got audited after th' boat thing?"

Grant nodded.

"That was nine years ago," Jefferson said. "Or, uh…" He sniffed, looking for another example. "Or when I broke my wrist? Eleven years ago," he said when Grant nodded. "It all blurs into some weird…non-time thing."

Grant sighed.

"You think I'm crazy now?" Jefferson wondered.

"No," Grant said, and he didn't. He thought he was hurt and confused, but not crazy.

"You want proof?" Jefferson asked. "How's 'Lizabeth like her toast?"

"What?"

"Answer the question."

"Um," Grant considered. "Butter and marmalade."

"You ever had toast with her?"

Grant opened his mouth, then closed it. "No." How _did_ he know that?

"She like to dance?"

"She loves it," Grant said softly, not sure how he knew that either, but certain of the knowledge.

"Who was Marco?"

"The cat she had when she was a kid." Jefferson was smirking at him, and Grant found his heart beating a little faster. "How do you know all that?" he asked. "How do _I_ know all that?"

"Those are things you remembered about her," Jefferson said, and though he still looked completely intoxicated, he was speaking with remarkable clarity. "You forget them every time the spell resets, but, see? They're in there."

"I…"

"Do you have dreams about the purple smoke?"

Grant's eyes widened. "What?" He'd never told anyone about that.

"The purple smoke," Jefferson said, all traces of humor gone. "It rolls in, low and heavy like the thickest fog you've ever seen. It's cold and dark and seeps into your bones, leaving this weight of looming dread behind. There's thunder and lightning, and you can smell the ozone in the air. You have those dreams?"

"Yeah," Grant whispered.

"That's the spell," Jefferson said. "That's what it looked like when the curse came in and changed everything."

Grant was quiet for a minute, rolling Jefferson's words over in his mind. The purple smoke was just a dream, but it felt like a memory. It always left him with this feeling of being torn in two, but this time he thought he remembered it more literally—the feeling of something being yanked from his grasp and disappearing into the smoke. Something precious.

He looked down at Jefferson with the feeling that maybe his friend wasn't as confused as Grant thought he was.

"You're remembering, aren't you?" Jefferson asked.

"I…" Grant stammered. "I don't know." He ran a hand back through his hair. "Magic and curses and spells, it…it can't be real." It didn't feel wrong, though.

"You don't sound very convinced of that," Jefferson said.

"I'm not," Grant admitted.

"Look," Jefferson said. "My head's clearing up some here, but why don't you go downstairs and make some coffee, and I'll finish up here, then we can talk some more?"

"Okay," Grant said. Jefferson still didn't look that great, but he did seem to have sobered up awfully quickly. And Grant needed some time to pull his thoughts together.

He went downstairs, set some coffee going, then picked up the pots and pans Jefferson had knocked over earlier to give himself something to do with his hands. He didn't just remember the smoke, and how Elizabeth liked her toast or that she loved to dance. There was a song, a song he could hear, that was soft and floaty and light, and Elizabeth was dancing and so was he. There was green grass everywhere and she was wearing something white, and he could feel the way her hands felt in his and hear the way she laughed.

He could see Jefferson, except he wasn't wearing designer clothes and silk scarves, but a tattered leather coat, with his hair longer and shaggier than Grant had ever seen it. There was a little girl with him, and she had his eyes, and they were happy, and Elizabeth was playing with her on the floor, and after Jefferson went to put the little girl to bed, she slid her hand around Grant's arm and leaned on his shoulder and said maybe someday they should have one of their own.

There was a bakery with wood-burning ovens instead of electric, and cobblestone streets, and a forest, big and green and alive in a way the woods here never felt. There were soldiers and merchants and magicians, and Elizabeth, always Elizabeth, except that didn't feel right, that wasn't her name, her name really was Peggy, wasn't it? And his name…

He had this vague idea that he'd been named Grant after his father, but he didn't really know where that came from. When he tried to latch on to any memory of his dad, he couldn't find one. And his mother…She was supposed to be from Ireland, but the only memories of her that would come up were of her in a little wooden house in that forest that felt so alive. He could hear her voice in all its inflections, soft, stern, sweet, worried, scolding, comforting, encouraging, proud…Steve. She always called him Steve. 'Steven', if he was in trouble. 'My Steve' when he was scared. He could hear a young Bucky shouting 'Steve!' as they played, and the softer 'Stevie' when he was feeling big brotherly. Peggy calling him 'Steve' with a fond smile, or whispering it in his ear as she cuddled against him in bed.

The clink of a coffee cup on the counter in front of him snapped him out of his reverie, and he was in the kitchen and Jeffers—no, Bucky, Bucky was in front of him with his hair wet and his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"Why do I think my name is Grant?" he croaked. That had been his name his whole life—or so he'd thought—but now it didn't fit him anymore. He'd come here tonight to make sure his friend was okay, and instead he'd gotten his entire world turned on its head.

"That's how the curse works," Bucky said. Bucky. Of course his name was Bucky—what sort of name for him was Jefferson? "She took everything from everybody. It was bad enough that she split people up—you know there's not one family in town that has everyone in it? Couples living apart, kids with the wrong families…She tore everything apart, and then took away everyone's identity on top of that."

"Why?"

Bucky shrugged. "I don't know. She had some sort of beef with Snow White—"

"I'm sorry, Snow White? Like the fairy tale?"

Bucky huffed an unamused laugh. "Where do you think those fairy tales came from? When the curse brought us all over here, magic leaked out everywhere, and our history became just stories. Regina was Snow White's stepmother. Took the kingdom from her and took over, then Snow and the resistance took it back. Then Regina decides if she can't get what she wants, no one does." He waved hand in the direction of the living room to take in the world around them. "So we get the curse."

Steve—that was his name, his name was Steve—picked up the coffee cup Bucky had set in front of him and took a drink. "It sounds so crazy," he said. "That we all had this whole other life. But it…But if it's crazy, then why do I remember it? It has to be real." He groaned and put a hand to his head as fragments of memories continued to flicker across his mind. "I'm only getting pieces of it, though, I…"

"Well, you've been cursed for fifteen years," Bucky said. "Technically, you still are. The spell is fighting to keep you 'Grant'."

"Tell me," Steve said. "I want to remember. Tell me everything."

Bucky smiled, and suddenly fifteen years didn't seem so far-fetched after all, because Steve realized that was the first time he'd seen _joy_ on his friend's face in fifteen years. He started talking, telling him about growing up in the woods together while their parents worked at the mill, then how Bucky studied magic and started portal-jumping, traveling to other realms with his magic hat, and how Steve started his bakery. He told him how he met his wife, Priscilla, and about having Grace and losing her mother. He told him about moving back into the woods and giving up his magic to keep his daughter safe. He told him about how Steve met Peggy, and her work in the county law office. He told him about the years they lived in the village, and the years they spent fighting with the resistance. He told him how Regina had threatened Grace to get him to use his magic hat to help her, which had ended with him trapped in Wonderland, and how he'd _really_ gotten the scar around his neck.

Steve listened while Bucky talked, both horrified and fascinated, and though the logical part of his brain argued that he was just feeding his friend's intricate grief-filled illusion, the words rang true in his soul, in parts of him that seemed to come awake and ignite flickers of memory. It didn't feel real, not quite, but it felt right.

"And you've really been…" Steve shook his head, unable to wrap his head around the magnitude of his friend being fully aware of the curse and not being able to do a thing about it. "You've been handling this for _fifteen years_? And you're still sane?"

Bucky huffed a laugh. "Well, the 'sane' part is debatable. But, yeah."

"What do we do?" Steve asked. "How do we fix this?"

Bucky shook his head. "I don't know. The magic I knew was nothing compared to this. I keep trying to make a hat that works, thinking maybe we can get home, but…"

"That's why you have all those hats," Steve realized.

"Yeah. I've been trying to get one to work, but there's no magic here. So I just have a room full of top hats."

"There has to be something we can do," Steve said.

Bucky nodded. "All curses have ways to break them. You just have to find them. And since no one else here knows about magic, that's not so easy."

"Well," Steve began, pushing away from the counter. "We…" He trailed off as a wave of… _something_ washed over him and he swayed, throwing out one hand to catch himself on the counter. "Whoa," he breathed.

Bucky was beside him in an instant. "Steve?" he asked worriedly.

"What was…" Steve started. He was suddenly having trouble keeping hold of his thoughts. He felt like he hadn't slept in a week.

"No," Bucky said. "No, no, no, Steve, don't do this!"

"'s happening?" Steve slurred.

Bucky's eyes darted up to the clock on the wall, and Steve's followed blearily. "It's midnight," Bucky whispered. "Midnight on the last day of the curse. The spell's resetting."

Steve might have been sinking toward the floor, but Bucky's arms around him were keeping him kind of upright, and even as lethargy coursed through his body, horror was screaming in his soul at the thought that he was about to forget everything. "The hell did she do to us?" he muttered.

"Steve, you've got to remember!" Bucky urged him, and Steve was on the floor now, but Bucky was holding his face in his hands and staring desperately into his eyes. "Please! Don't leave me here like this! You have to remember something! Just hang on to something, please!"

Bucky was getting blurry, and Steve's head felt like it weighed a couple thousand pounds, but he nodded as best he could. "I'll try," he said. "'m so sorry, Buck," he whispered, realizing that _he_ was the one slipping off into a fantasy world, leaving Bucky grounded in reality all alone. "'m sorry. I'll try." Then black rolled in, black tinged with swirls of purple and flashes of lightning.

Grant came awake slowly, his head pounding like there was a guy inside it with a sledgehammer trying to break out. He blinked open groggy, heavy eyelids to soft sunlight in a room he didn't recognize. "Nnh?" he grunted incoherently, pushing himself up a couple of inches on exhausted arms before quickly returning to his horizontal position as his head and stomach vehemently protested the movement.

"Hey," a voice said softly, then there was a soothing hand resting on his back. "Take it easy."

He blinked up in the direction of the voice, and though the outline coalescing into a person was kind of blurry, Grant thought he recognized it. "Jeff?" he mumbled.

Jefferson smiled at him, though the smile didn't reach his eyes. His eyes, actually, looked like he was trying very hard not to cry. Grant wanted to be concerned about that, but his head was pounding too much to allow any further thoughts to form. "Yeah," Jefferson said softly. "I'm here." He patted his back gently. "Go on back to sleep."

"W'z'n?" Grant mumbled, even as his eyes started falling closed again.

"It's okay," Jefferson said. "Go back to sleep. I've got you, buddy."

The next time Grant woke up, he was clear-headed enough to recognize that he was in his bedroom. The pounding headache of earlier had vanished, though the nausea and general achiness persisted, if not quite as bad as before. He sat up carefully, and a muffled snore from the floor drew his eyes off the side of the bed. Jefferson was asleep in a graceless sprawl next to his bed. He was lying on top of the cushions off of Grant's couch, just like they used to do when they were kids.

"Jeff?" he asked, touched at the memory, but confused as to why his friend was asleep on his floor in the first place.

Jefferson blinked awake, then sat up quickly when he realized Grant was looking at him. "Hey!" he greeted. "Hey, you're awake! How do you feel?"

Grant considered for a moment before deciding on, "Alive." He nodded to the couch cushions. "What happened?"

"What do you remember?" Jefferson asked.

"Uh…" Grant was a little thrown off by the way Jefferson was watching him. He looked so… _hopeful_. "I feel like I was at your house?"

Jefferson nodded, prompting him for more. "You were. Do you remember what we talked about?"

"Plans for your garden?" Grant guessed. "I remember you saying something about growing apples." It was a little odd, but it would get him outside in the sun and give him something to focus on. After the accident six months ago, his friend could use something positive like that to work on.

That was what Grant remembered, but it had evidently been the wrong thing to say, because Jefferson's face fell as all the hope vanished from it like someone had flipped a switch.

"I'm sorry; should I not have…?" he wondered.

"It's fine," Jefferson assured him, though it didn't look like it was fine at all. "That was the gist." He looked up at him in a sad attempt at a smile. "We were up pretty late, and I think you were coming down with something and it just hit you while you were over there, and you fell asleep on my couch. I got you home, but I figured I should stay at least until you finished puking."

"Oh," Grant said. That would explain the taste in his mouth. "Thank you."

"No problem."

"No, really, thank you," he said. He knew Jefferson was the one who needed help these days, and he felt bad about making his friend have to take care of him for a while. At the same time, it was a hint of the old Jefferson, from back when they were kids, and he was glad that was still in there. "I really appreciate it."

"It's my job to take care of you, buddy," Jefferson said as he stood up, and there was something a little more real in his smile. "Lord knows you do it enough for me."

Grant smiled and nodded, knowing that his friend wasn't saying he was looking out for him only out of some sort of obligation, but because that was just what the two of them did.

Jefferson helped him up and into the bathroom, and Grant felt a little better after a shower. When he came out, Jefferson had put all the cushions back on the couch and had tea and toast waiting for him in the kitchen.

"Hey," Grant said as he ate his toast. "Are you okay?"

"Me?" Jefferson asked. "I'm not the one who spent the night throwing up."

"No, I just mean…When I woke up," Grant explained. "Did I say something wrong about the apples?"

Jefferson sighed. "No," he said. "I was just hoping…" He sighed again. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Grant's head felt clearer, but details of last night at his friend's were still kind of fuzzy. "Did I forget something that happened last night?"

Jefferson huffed a soft laugh. "Yeah," he said quietly. He held up a hand to cut Grant off before he could ask what it was. "Don't worry about it. I'll fill you in later."

He clearly didn't want to talk about it, so Grant nodded. "I'm sorry," he said, feeling like he'd hurt his friend somehow, but not sure how.

"It's really okay," Jefferson assured him, and the look in his eyes told him he meant it. "It was nothing you did." He patted him on the back. "Actually, I feel like I should be the one apologizing to you—I know you're not usually up that late. I'm guessing that's why it hit you so hard."

"This bug thing?" Grant asked, not quite sure how staying up late would make him sick faster.

"Bug, curse, whatever you want to call it," Jefferson sighed. "Yeah." He nudged the half-eaten plate of toast closer to Grant. "Finish your toast," he said. "You make me eat all my food when I'm sick."

"Yes, Mom," Grant said, and that got a laugh out of Jefferson.

After Grant finished eating and declared himself to be feeling better, Jefferson looked him over and then nodded and headed back home. Grant still felt like he was missing something, but he would have to wait for Jefferson to tell him in his own time.

He heard a knock at the downstairs door, and realized if he'd been asleep for half the day, the bakery would have been closed. There wasn't anything fresh to sell, but maybe whoever was down there would want some of the day-olds.

Grant flicked on the light at the bottom of the stairs and crossed the room to open the door, and when he saw Elizabeth standing on the steps, he suddenly wished he was wearing something nicer than his pajamas. Although, he supposed it was only fair, since he'd seen her in her pajamas too. At…some point? When had he done that?

"Hi, Elizabeth," he said, pulling the front of his robe closed. At least he could hide the t-shirt with holes in it. "Sorry I wasn't open this morning. Wasn't feeling well. If you're okay with slightly less fresh bread, though, I've got some of that."

She smiled. "I know you weren't feeling well," she said. She nodded at the door, and Grant turned to see a sign taped in the window that read, 'Under the weather. Closed today,' in Jefferson's hand writing. "I saw the sign when I came by this morning."

"Oh."

She held up the plastic bowl in her hands. "I didn't come to trouble you for bread when you were feeling ill, but I thought you might like some soup."

Grant blinked in surprise. "You made me soup?"

She nodded and held out the container. He took it from her, and it was still warm. "Chicken and rice," she said. "I know convention dictates chicken noodle, but chicken and rice is an old family remedy."

Grant smiled. "Mine too. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said. "I am sorry you're not well," she said, laying a hand briefly on his arm and sending a shiver through his body that had nothing to do with being sick. "I hope you feel better soon."

"Thanks," he said. "I think it's just a twenty-four hour thing. I'm feeling a little better already." He nodded down at the soup. "And this smells great. It's the first thing I've wanted to eat all day."

She smiled. "Well, good. I hope it helps."

He wanted to ask why she'd gone to the trouble of doing that for him—they didn't really know each other _that_ well, but…but they kind of did, he felt like. Maybe they hadn't known one another long, but they were friends, and friends did things like that for each other.

"Thank you," he said again.

"You're welcome," she replied, smiling fondly. "Now, you go in there and eat that, have some tea, and then straight to bed. Rest and fluids is what you need."

"Oh, is it, now?" he asked with a grin.

"Doctor's orders," she said with a cheeky smile.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied. He took a step back inside. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I do hope so," she said. "But only if you're better. Don't drag yourself down to the ovens before dawn on my account."

He was about to say something about if she wanted bread, he would bake the night through to get her some, but he caught himself before it came out. That was…Yeah, he shouldn't say that. "Oh, I won't," he assured her. "Germs on the bread is bad for business."

She laughed at that, told him to get well soon, then touched his arm again before she left. He stared at the spot on his arm where she touched it for a minute before closing the door.

The soup was delicious.

* * *

_The Enchanted Forest_

Steve dragged himself home on heavy feet, exhausted. The sky above him was gray and ominous, threatening rain, but he didn't have it in him to make himself go any faster. He made it home just as it started to fall, heavy drops stinging against his neck.

He sagged against the doorframe as he stepped inside, appreciating for possibly the first time the way the ovens in the back really warmed up the front of the shop. He hadn't realized he was this cold.

"Hello?" Peggy called, stepping in from the kitchen, and for a moment, Steve forgot how cold and tired and sore he was and just looked at her. "Steve!" she exclaimed, hurrying forward.

"Hi," he said tiredly, smiling at her.

She wrapped her arms around him, and he hugged her back, so glad to finally be home. "Good Lord, you're freezing," she said. She pulled out of the hug and took his hand, leading him back to the kitchen. "Come back here and warm up," she said.

He didn't argue.

"I thought they weren't going to let you out until this evening," she said, steering him to sit on a stool by one of the ovens and swinging the kettle back over the fire. "I was going to come and get you."

He nodded. "They were running out of room. They needed the spot, and I guess they figured I'd done close enough to my time."

Steve had just come from the same jail where Peggy had been locked up a year ago, although he'd spent three nights there instead of one. It hadn't actually been his fault—he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time was all. He'd gone out to Bucky's cottage to help him replace one of the timbers in the ceiling. Some soldiers had shown up and arrested Bucky for being behind on his taxes, and Steve had been there, so they'd taken him too. In Bucky's case, a simple fine should have taken care of it, and Steve should have been allowed to go once it was clear he hadn't done anything, but…Simple fines had gone out the window lately, replaced with jail time 'as a warning'. They'd been separated in jail, so Steve didn't know how long Bucky had been given—he himself had gotten three nights, but he suspected Bucky got more for being the original 'criminal'. Bail was no longer available for petty crimes, so he'd had to just wait it out. They'd stopped allowing visitors too, so Peggy hadn't been allowed in, but she'd at least been notified of his whereabouts.

She nodded and handed him a cup of tea, lightly sweet with lemon, and he clutched it tightly in his hands, savoring the warmth on his chilly fingers. "You look dreadful," she said, resting a hand on his shoulder.

He nodded and huffed a soft laugh. "I kind of feel like it." The cells were being used so often these days, they weren't in as good of shape as they had been during Peggy's stay. It had been cold and damp the entire time, with water pouring in the windows when it rained, and rats that came and tried to nibble at him if he slept for more than an hour or so. "Are you okay?" he asked. "They didn't come here and give you any trouble?"

"No," she said. "Aside from worrying about you, I've been alright." She crouched down so she could look in his eyes and drew a hand down the side of his face. "Did they feed you?"

"A little," he said. He was starving, actually, but as he took a drink of his tea, he thought the liquid might be all his stomach could handle right now. "Is Grace alright?"

Grace had been at the cottage when the soldiers came, and Bucky had put up far less of a fight than Steve knew he'd wanted to in the hopes they would leave her alone. They had, though they'd made sure to properly terrify her before they left. Steve had told her to go to Peggy, and Bucky had nodded, assuring her everything would be alright.

"She's okay," Peggy told him. "Exhausted and shaking with worry by the time she got here, but she's alright. She's upstairs putting lunch together." She worked a hand under his arm. "We should get you some too. Come on. There's a fire up there as well."

Steve nodded and followed her up. The stairs were a lot of work, but he made it, stopping to lean against the door when he reached the top. He had to smile at the sight of Grace setting the table. The seven-year-old was singing to herself as she worked, a little song she'd made up about ham sandwiches. She looked up when they came in, looking happy and fearful all at once when her eyes landed on Steve.

"Uncle Steve!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to greet him. "You're back!" She hugged him warmly, and Steve smiled and patted her hair.

"It's good to see you too, Grace," he said, leaning down enough to kiss the top of her head. "I'm glad you made it here okay." He knew she knew the way from her house to the village, but it was still a long way for a little girl to go alone. He and Bucky had both been worried about her. Her eyes darted hopefully to the empty stairwell behind him, and he sighed. "I'm sorry, sweetheart; I don't know when they're going to let your dad out."

"Oh, I know," she sighed, the happiness in her voice deflating. "They said he had to stay for a week. I was just hoping they would maybe let him out with you."

"I was too," Steve said.

"I'm glad you're back, though," she assured him, hugging him again before letting him go. "You don't look very good, though. And you're all cold. Come sit over here by the fire."

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a smile, following her to the stool by the fire. Once he was situated to her satisfaction, she returned to getting lunch ready.

"A week?" Steve asked Peggy softly.

She nodded. "I got the news when they told me how long it would be for you. I suppose Bucky must have given them our address for the notification."

Steve nodded. That was smart. At least Grace would have an answer this way, even if she did have to wait longer. He sighed. "How he's supposed to make up for his taxes if he can't work for a week…"

Peggy nodded. "At least they're not keeping him in until it's all paid off," she said. "He'd never get out then." There was at least that. It wasn't so much an act of mercy as it was making sure everyone got their money, but at least it was something. "And maybe we could set something aside for him," she said, and Steve could see her flipping the pages of their ledger in her head.

He'd been thinking the same—they were barely staying above water these days, what with the increased taxes and the mortgage on the bakery, but they were at least floating. The increased taxes and the fees for permits for selling in the marketplace meant that for a while now Bucky had been very close to drowning.

Peggy refilled his tea and Grace brought him a sandwich on a plate that he propped on his knees and tried to eat in front of the fire. As tight as money was, he felt awful wasting it, but he couldn't get down more than a few bites. Peggy noticed before she started eating, and packed the makings of her own sandwich away.

"If you can't finish that, I'll eat it," she said. He smiled gratefully and handed her the plate. "We'll let you rest, and then maybe we'll try some soup for tonight," she added. "You do need to eat something."

He nodded, not having the energy for much else.

By the time he'd finished his tea, his eyelids were starting to droop, longing visions of the bed in the next room dancing through his mind. After three days of damp and mud and mildew and rats, however, he felt disgusting, and was contemplating just curling up on the floor in front of the fire instead and falling asleep. Peggy, however, after sending Grace downstairs to mind the store, pulled out the tub and set to filling it, then helped him undress and coaxed him down into the warm water.

"For the first time ever, you actually look worse with your clothes off," Peggy told him, and he could hear the pain in her voice behind the teasing tone she was trying to put on. She rested a hand on his back. "Does it hurt awfully?"

Most of his left side was a greenish-yellow bruise from being shoved into the wall of his cell upon his arrival. There were plentiful smaller bruises from trying to sleep on the stone floor, as well as patches of itchy redness where the fleas had gotten him. "It's more a full-body ache than anything particularly painful," he said.

She nodded and picked up a cloth, gently working soap across his back and his chest and his arms and legs, washing away the dirt and the memories of the cell. She hummed softly, knowing he wasn't up to much conversation, and Steve recognized the tune from one of her music boxes. He nearly fell asleep while she worked her soapy fingers through his hair, but settled for leaning forward onto his knees and closing his eyes.

"I could jus' sleep here, y'know," he mumbled as she poured warm water over his head to rinse the soap off. Her fingers slowly massaging his scalp were amazing.

She chuckled softly. "As amusing a picture as that would be," she said. "Don't you think you'd get cold? Besides," she added, wrapping a towel over him and coaxing him upright. "It might scandalize poor little Grace to find her Uncle Steve naked in the dining room."

"Point," he agreed. "She okay down there by herself?" he asked.

Peggy nodded, toweling him off and helping him into something dry. "She's been helping me down there ever since she got here. Having something to do keeps her from worrying as much. And there's plenty for her to do that doesn't involve the ovens."

In the bedroom, she helped him into bed, tucking the blankets in securely around him. For a moment she just sat beside him, running her fingers through his hair.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

She nodded. "It's been helpful, having Grace here," she said. "Selfish as that sounds. It gave me someone to put on a brave face for. But I was terribly worried about you." She drew a hand gently down his cheek. "I'm glad you're back."

He smiled up at her. "I'm sorry you had to worry."

She leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Well, you had to worry about me last year, so I suppose it's only fair. Now that we've each done it once, how about we never do it again? It's dreadful."

"Deal," he said. He pulled her hand over from where it was stroking his cheek and kissed it. "I'm sorry you had to take care of the bakery on top of worrying and everything else. I'll be back on my feet to help you run it tomorrow." He knew that she could handle it—she'd had trouble finding work in the last year, so she'd been working with him, but it was a lot for one person.

"No, you won't," she said. "You are going to rest until you no longer look like death warmed over."

"I—"

"Darling, you've been working yourself to the bone lately. You would have fallen ill even if you hadn't spent three nights in a damp little hole. The jail cell just sped the process along a bit. You need to take some time to heal. I can manage on my own until you do."

He opened his mouth and she reached down and placed her hand over it.

"If you won't do it to take care of yourself, do it to take care of the bakery. Think how bad it will be for business if you go down there tomorrow and spread your germs all over the bread."

Steve narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "I was going to say 'okay' the first time," he said. He yawned.

"Oh." She blushed slightly, but she smiled. "Well, how was I to know that? You do like to argue."

"You have a terrible bedside manner," he told her.

"Have I?" she asked. She leaned down and kissed him warmly on the cheek, then started carding her fingers through his hair, drawing them in slow spirals across his scalp.

Whatever Steve had been about to say was lost in a sleepy hum of contentment. "Maybe y're not so bad," he mumbled, eyes sinking shut.

She laughed softly, keeping up her stroking of his hair. "I'm so glad you're home, darling," she whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too," he replied.

"Get some rest."

After three nights of failing to sleep on a hard, cold stone floor, Steve fell asleep almost immediately. He woke later in a cloud of fuzzy contentment. He still ached all over, and his stomach and head were still protesting their general existence, but he found he didn't mind all that much, tucked up warm and dry and soft under his piles of blankets. Belatedly, he realized that what had woken him was a hand resting on his shoulder, and he turned enough to see Peggy sitting in a chair beside the bed.

"Hi," he croaked.

"Hello," she said with a smile. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mm," he agreed. His eyes were closing again. "Gonna get back to that."

"No," she said, tapping him again on the shoulder. When he didn't open his eyes fast enough, she poked him gently in the shoulder.

"Hey," he complained, squinting at her unhappily.

"You need to eat," she said, holding up a bowl of soup. "Then you can go back to sleep."

He sighed, but shifted into an upright position. "I was comfortable."

"I'm sorry, darling," she said, smiling, but not particularly remorseful. "Do you want bread with the soup?"

He took the bowl and inhaled tentatively. The smell didn't turn his stomach, which was a good sign. "Maybe?" he said. "Let me try just some soup first." It was chicken and rice—his mother had always made it for him when he was sick, and he and Peggy had taken to making it for one another when either of them were under the weather.

He took a bite, and his stomach squirmed in protest, but not so much that he was worried about the broth making a second appearance. After a few more careful bites, the nausea settled enough that he thought he could manage the soup, but the bread might need to wait until tomorrow.

"Anything interesting happen while I was gone?" he asked.

Peggy filled him in on the comings and goings of their regular customers while he ate. It was all business as usual, which was comforting. There was comfort in the little routines.

Peggy managed to force some tea on him after he finished the soup, but keeping his eyes open any longer was proving difficult, and he fell asleep again. He woke partially later on as she slid under the covers beside him, waking up just enough to kiss her cheek as she snuggled up against him. She was nice and warm.

He woke later to a much smaller hand tapping his shoulder and saw Grace standing beside the bed with a plate of buttered toast. "Hi, Uncle Steve," she said softly, as though she needed to be quiet until he was fully awake. "Aunt Peggy is working on the oven downstairs, so she asked me to bring you breakfast." She held out the plate with a hopeful smile, and Steve smiled back and sat up enough to take it.

"Thank you," he said, taking an experimental bite of the toast. He was a little hungrier today, and if he ate slowly, this ought to be alright.

"Do you feel better today?" she asked.

"A little bit," he said. She nodded, sitting down thoughtfully on the stool by the bed. "Something on your mind?" he asked, when she had sat for a couple of minutes in thoughtful silence.

"Yeah," she said. She sighed. "What's it like in jail?" she wondered. "I always thought they just locked you in a room, but then you came back all sick and looking kind of beat up. Are they mean to you there?"

Steve sighed, and took a large bite of his toast while he contemplated his answer. He knew she was concerned about him, but he could also tell where the question was going. A part of him wanted to lie, knowing she was worried enough about Bucky as it was, but he knew she trusted him, and he didn't want to break that.

"They can be," he said at last. "Sometimes the guards there lock you up and leave you alone, but sometimes there's a guard that feels like being a bully and giving you a hard time."

"And you got one of the mean ones?"

"When I first got there," he said, thinking of the force with which he'd collided with the wall. "But the reason I'm sick is because my cell was wet and cold and I didn't sleep very well."

She nodded. "I'm sorry," she said, reaching over and squeezing his hand.

He smiled in thanks, and they were quiet for a few more minutes while he ate his toast.

"My papa's probably going to be sick when they let him go too, isn't he?" she asked. "If the cells are like that."

"Probably," Steve agreed sadly. Worried furrows crossed her little brow. "What's the matter?" Steve asked gently.

She sniffed softly. "I'm just…" She sniffed again. "I'm worried for my papa. He's going to be sick, and, and maybe hurt, and the doctor is so expensive, and…" She sniffled again.

"Hey," Steve said softly. He reached over and put a hand on her arm. "It's okay. Come here." He patted the mattress beside him, and she got up and snuggled against his side. "It's okay," he said again, looping an arm around her. She sniffled into his shirt. "Whatever happens, it'll be alright. Me and your Aunt Peggy are going to take care of you, and when they let your dad out, we'll take care of him too." He rubbed a hand up and down her arm. "And if he needs to go to the doctor, then we'll figure that out too."

She blinked watery eyes up at him then, and he smiled warmly.

"We're a family, the four of us," he told her. "And that means we do whatever we have to to take care of each other. And that we're happy to do it," he added, kissing the top of her head.

"Thanks, Uncle Steve," she said with a small smile. Her smile fell away and she sniffled again. "I'm still worried about my papa, though," she whispered.

Steve sighed and hugged her a little tighter. "Me too, kiddo. Me too."

Steve spent most of the rest of the day sleeping, though his appetite was returning. He felt well enough to sit up and stay awake the next day, though both he and Peggy thought he should stay away from the food in the bakery for a little longer. He stayed upstairs and napped and played a card game with Grace and told her a story about when he and Bucky had been kids and built forts out of the sacks of flour at the mill.

By the end of the week, he was on his feet again, and he left Peggy and Grace to mind the bakery while he went down to the jail to see about Bucky. He and Peggy had talked it over the night before, and thought that Bucky might get let out earlier in the day, like Steve had, and that maybe Steve should be there to meet him without Grace, just in case he needed a little cleaning up before she saw him and got even more worried. On his way to the jail, Steve went by the tax office and paid Bucky's debt, which was awfully high for someone with such a small income. It was little wonder he had trouble paying it—the amount expected of him was nearly as much as Steve and Peggy had to pay on the bakery. Steve shook his head angrily as he left. If Regina kept taxing her subjects out of house and home, she wasn't going to have anyone left to rule over before too long.

The guards at the jail smirked when they saw Steve again, but, like when he'd come to get Peggy, he just smiled calmly and didn't say anything and imagined himself punching the smug look off their faces while he waited. Bucky came out a couple of hours later, and he looked pretty terrible, but he smiled in relief at the sight of Steve.

"Is Grace okay?" he asked, as soon as they were out of the building.

"She's fine," Steve assured her. "She's at home with Peggy. What about you? Are you okay?"

Bucky nodded. "I'm fine."

Steve arched an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Okay, fine, I feel like crap," Bucky admitted. "But I can sleep it off. Grace and I can go home, and I'll just—"

"You're going to stay with us until you feel better," Steve said.

"No, Steve, I—"

"Buck, if you try walking home, you'll collapse before you're halfway there," Steve pointed out. He wondered if Bucky was unaware of the fact that he was currently leaning on Steve while they walked. "Think about how Grace would feel if that happened," he added, not afraid to pull out the big guns in the face of his friend's pride.

"Oh, that's just playing dirty," Bucky sighed. "But, yeah, you're right." He smiled up at him, a little embarrassed. "Thank you."

His big-brother instinct kicked in as they walked, and he made Steve tell him about his stay in jail and how he'd been. He apologized profusely for getting Steve caught up in this, and Steve assured him it was all on the Queen and her thugs and not his fault at all.

Back in the bakery, Grace squealed excitedly and flung herself into her father's arms when they came in the door. Bucky smiled in relief as he folded her into his arms and kissed her, but Steve saw the flash of pain across his face as she collided with him. After several minutes of hugging, Steve convinced her to let go so he could take Bucky upstairs to get a bath, promising to alert her the minute he was done.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked as he filled the tub with hot water.

Bucky sighed heavily. "They roughed me up pretty good," he said. He peeled off his shirt, and Steve's eyes went wide at the sight of the bruises and cuts marring his torso. Across his stomach—right where Grace had run into him—was a large, dark purple bruise that stretched across nearly his entire abdomen.

"That's more than roughing you up," Steve said. "How old is that?" he asked, pointing at the large bruise on his stomach.

Bucky was quiet for a minute. "Old enough that it shouldn't be this dark," he admitted.

Steve stepped forward and prodded it gently. It was swollen and tender, and Bucky winced at the slightest pressure. "I think you need a doctor," he said.

"I know," Bucky said grimly.

"I'm going to go find one," Steve said. "You stay here and get cleaned up, and I'll be back."

"Thanks," Bucky said quietly. "I'm sorry. I can't pay you back for this now, but I will, I—"

"No, you won't," Steve said, sternly, but not unkindly. He held up a hand as Bucky opened his mouth again. "You wouldn't expect me to pay it back if it was the other way around."

Bucky stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you."

Steve hurried out the back—no need for Grace to know about the doctor and worry even more until they had an actual report to give. Bucky was clean and looking a little better when they got back. The examination revealed a little bit of internal bleeding—if it had been more to center, it would have been much more dangerous, but it was mostly around the muscles in his side and had already started healing itself. The doctor left them with some witch hazel and other herbs to speed the healing along, as well as instructions for how often to apply cold cloths and pressure to it. He also left them some yarrow for the fever Bucky was running, shaking his head sadly as he left.

"He'll be fine," he assured Steve at the door, accepting the few coins and the loaves of bread Steve gave him. He sighed. "Most of my business comes from the jail these days. And not everyone is so lucky as your friend, there. It's a sad state of things, these days. A sad state." He shook his head again and left.

Bucky slept for most of the afternoon, Grace curled up against his uninjured side. Steve had tried getting him to take the bed, but he'd refused, saying the couch was more than comfortable enough, especially after a week on a stone floor. He'd then promptly fallen asleep before Steve could force him to move.

Later that night, Steve and Peggy stayed up late talking quietly at the table by the light of the fire. "They could have killed him, Peggy," Steve said bitterly. The doctor's words about how dangerous the injury could have been were playing on a loop in his head.

"There certainly seems to be an increase in brutality these days," Peggy agreed. "I suppose they know they've got a free hand. Eleanor was telling me just this afternoon when she came in about her son. He was playing in the street with his friends, and their ball bounced into a mud puddle and splashed mud all over a passing soldier, so he caught the boy by his shirt collar and boxed his ears." She scowled darkly. "He's _ten_."

Steve shook his head, anger churning in his stomach that was showing up more and more often since the day Peggy had been thrown in jail. "It's not right, Peggy," he said. "The Queen and her soldiers, they're all just bullies, using the fact that the law is on their side to throw their weight around."

"The law isn't even on their side," Peggy said. "It's illegal to beat the prisoners in jail, or people on the street. The taxes aren't allowed to be going up as often or as severely as they do, and there are supposed to be alternatives when the taxes _do_ come to a point where someone is about to lose their home or business." There were several shops up and down the street that had been boarded up as their neighbors' finances had crumbled. "They're not even pretending to follow the law anymore."

Steve looked at her. "You mentioned something once about joining the resistance," he said. "Did you mean that?"

"I don't know how seriously I was talking then, but I'm taking it very seriously now," she said.

"I think we should do it," he said. "This can't keep happening."

"No, it can't," Peggy agreed. She smiled at him and reached across the table and took his hand. "Are we really going to do this?"

"It's the right thing to do," Steve said, squeezing her hand and smiling back.

"It could be dangerous," Peggy said, arching an eyebrow.

"It already is," Steve pointed out.

She grinned. "Well, then, shall we carry on stubbornly standing up to injustice together?"

Steve grinned back, feeling the anger in his gut settle at the realization that they were going to do something about it, but before he could reply, a voice from across the room said, "Seriously, if you're going to keep going this way, could you take it to the bedroom?" They both looked over to the couch, where Bucky was sitting up a little bit. He nodded down at Grace, who was still asleep by his side. "There are children present."

Steve chuckled. "Sorry we woke you up."

"No, that would be the throbbing pain in my side, not you," Bucky replied. "So, the resistance, huh?" He sniffed thoughtfully. "Count me in."

"Really?" Peggy asked.

"Well, I mean, once I can walk around without falling over again and everything, yeah," Bucky said. "Like Steve said, it's the right thing to do."

"It's dangerous too, though," Steve pointed out. He nodded to Grace. "I mean…" Steve and Peggy, though it was dangerous, were at least going into this together. Bucky had more to lose.

"I know," Bucky said, looking down at his daughter and running his hand over her hair. "That's the other reason I'm in. She shouldn't have to grow up like this. She deserves better."

Steve smiled and nodded, then looked back at Peggy and squeezed her hand. "Okay," he said. "Let's do this."

* * *

_2004_

Grant came out of the back room in the bakery to find Elizabeth wiping down the table in the corner by the window. "You don't have to do that, you know," he told her, picking up the empty coffee cups. "It's my store."

"Yes, but it was my meeting," she replied, finishing her tidying up. "My mother did not raise an ungrateful house guest."

Grant chuckled. "Well, that's very nice of you. Did I miss anything important at the end?"

"You were voted to do the designs for the posters," she said. "I know we didn't technically ask you, but…"

"I am the only artist in the group," Grant finished for her with a smile. "And I seem to recall volunteering when I talked to you yesterday."

She smiled. "That was why I nominated you."

Tired of fighting with Mayor Mills in court on what seemed like every decision that came across city legislation, Elizabeth had decided to run for mayor herself in the elections this fall. She'd talked it over at great length with Grant, and he'd thought it was a great idea—he'd been planning to vote for someone else in the next election anyway, and Elizabeth would be great. She never seemed to get tired of standing up for the right thing. Her friends Angie, Rose, and Edwin were helping her plan things—Angie helped her with her speeches, Rose was a whiz researcher, and Edwin ran things behind the scenes, scheduling appointments, gathering information and supplies, and just generally pulling whatever they needed out of his hat. Grant had offered his bakery as a place for them all to meet, and somehow or other had ended up as her campaign manager. He still wasn't sure how that had happened, but he'd be lying if he said it wasn't nice getting to work so closely with her.

"The only question," she went on thoughtfully. "Will be gathering the funding for printing the posters. I rather imagine Mr. Glass will not be extending me his usual discount for city employees for this venture."

"You're probably right," Grant agreed. It was an open secret in Storybrooke that Sidney Glass, head editor of the newspaper and owner of the print shop, was thoroughly and completely at Mayor Mills' beck and call. Grant didn't imagine her taking too kindly to a potential usurper.

"I can cover it," Jefferson offered from his seat in the corner.

Grant and Elizabeth looked at him in surprise. "Really?" Grant asked. It had been a little over a year since the accident where he'd lost his daughter, and he'd been floating along in a sort of numb apathy. Grant had been dragging him to the meetings mostly just to get him out of the house. (Well, that and to make sure he was eating.) He'd been at all the meetings so far, but Grant didn't think he'd actually said anything at one yet.

"Sure," Jefferson replied, shrugging one shoulder. A small smile curled up one corner of his mouth. "I haven't actually contributed yet."

Elizabeth smiled. "Thank you. That's very generous of you."

"Happy to help," he said, and he sounded like he meant it.

Elizabeth gathered up the rest of her things and left, thanking Grant again for his help. Grant promised to have some sketches done up by next week, and she smiled and waved as she left.

"So, are you ever gonna do anything with her?" Jefferson asked after the door had closed behind her.

Grant sighed. "Jeff, we've been over this. She's engaged."

"Yeah. To a guy who's about as interesting as a dry-erase board. She sees him once a week, and he's not helping her with this campaign. There was more spark in the way she touched your arm just now than they have in their whole relationship."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. If there was anything there, he'd be the one doing late nights at her apartment drinking tea and running numbers and ideas and thinking how beautiful her hair looks in the lamp light."

Grant blinked in surprise, and Jefferson smirked. "Okay, yes, I've been spending a lot of time over at her place trying to help her, but that's only because we both work all day." He stared at him suspiciously. "How did you know the thing about her hair?"

"Because you've always liked her hair. I know everything."

"Sure." Grant sighed. "That's pretty terrible, though, isn't it? Because I do like her, and I like her a lot. But she's with somebody else. Why can't I let it go?"

"It's not terrible," Jefferson replied. "You can't help having feelings, but you're not doing anything with them. You're being a disgustingly perfect gentleman about it."

Grant huffed a laugh, though his cheeks reddened. "You know I'm not just helping her with this because I like her, right?" Sure, if she wasn't in a relationship, then he would be very interested in pursuing something with her. But he liked her as a friend, too, and he wasn't trying to use this campaign to worm his way into something more.

"I know," Jefferson said. He smiled fondly. "You're a good guy. Believe me, nobody is thinking that's what you're doing."

Grant nodded. "Oh, hey, thanks, by the way, for helping out with the posters. That's really nice of you."

Jefferson shrugged again. "Well, you keep dragging me to these things; I figure I should actually do something."

"You know you don't have to if—"

"I know. I want to." He sighed. "I don't think it's going to do any good, but I want to help. If anybody has a chance of beating Regina, it's Elizabeth."

"Why do you think it won't do any good?" Grant asked.

"Because it never does. No one ever beats Regina."

Grant frowned, puzzled. "This is her first term in office. No one's run against her yet."

Jefferson laughed, a long burst of genuinely amused laughter. "Well," he said, still chuckling. "You're not wrong. I guess twenty-one years without an election _does_ still make it your first term."

Grant sighed. "Jeff…"

"There's not going to be an election," Jefferson said. "There's never been one, and there won't be one in October."

"Why not?"

"Because everything's going to reset in June, and everyone will forget this whole thing ever happened."

Grant sighed again. Since the accident, his friend didn't always have the strongest grip on reality. He had this theory about time repeating itself in some sort of magical-forest-fantasy-slash-Groundhog-Day-scenario, but trying to correct him on it typically led to a breakdown and some yelling and usually Jefferson wandering off and drinking until he passed out.

"If that's the case, why do you want to help, then?" Grant asked curiously. He didn't want to feed into his friend's delusions, but he was curious.

Jefferson shrugged again. "Because I'm hoping someone will remember something. I've seen it, you know. After twenty-one years, I've seen some little things start to stick, just here and there. We keep at this long enough, we might get somewhere. And I meant it when I said I believed in Elizabeth." He sighed. "And if nothing else, I'm down with sticking it to Regina. May as well do something with my time, and I can say with absolute certainty that I've never hated anyone more."

Grant nodded. He'd always known that his friend's animosity for the mayor ran deep, though now that he thought about it, he couldn't put his finger on why. He looked at his friend thoughtfully, and for a moment, he was replaced by a weeping little girl with dark hair and Jefferson's eyes.

Grant blinked and shook his head, and Jefferson was staring at him curiously. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Grant said, shaking his head one more time. That had been weird. "You want to come upstairs and have dinner? We could watch _Stargate_ after—there's a new one on tonight."

"Sure. Why not?" Jefferson said. "I finished your crossword puzzle for you, by the way," he added, picking up the newspaper from the table. "Seventeen across should be 'hazel', not 'amber'." He got up to follow Grant up the stairs. Grant's mind was only half on the show, though. He couldn't shake the image of that little girl from his head. He'd never seen her before, but he felt like he knew her, and he didn't know what her connection was to Jefferson.

He managed to forget about the incident over the next couple of days. He was busy with his sketches for Elizabeth's posters, and the bakery was keeping busy. There were also several late evenings at Elizabeth's apartment working on her platform. They both agreed that it should focus on reform and renewal, but it needed to be more specific than that. They didn't want to focus just on what Mayor Mills was doing wrong that Elizabeth would do right. That seemed like a low sort of move, and besides, people would be more attracted to a positive message. (Elizabeth's friend, Angie, had been very disappointed to hear that, having evidently relished the chance to smear Regina in public. Grant also got the impression she wouldn't have objected to simply walking up to the mayor and punching her in the mouth.)

"Sorry, just a moment," Elizabeth said as the phone rang. "Yes? Oh, yes, hello, Fred. What? No, I told you I wouldn't be able to make it tonight." She lowered her voice. "We've discussed this."

Grant wondered for a moment what he should do—she clearly could use some privacy, but the cord of the phone didn't stretch far enough for her to go to another room. He could leave, of course, but that might make it weirder, so he settled for picking up the tea cups and moving into the kitchen. He tried to make a lot of noise setting new water on and filling the cups back up, but it was a small apartment and he couldn't help hearing snatches of the rest of the conversation.

"Yes, I know, but this is important to me," Elizabeth huffed. She listened for a moment. "I'm not asking you to run my campaign or anything, but it wouldn't kill you to show some support." She listened for a little longer, and when her voice came back, it was calm in a way that was kind of scary. "How _dare_ you?" she hissed. "To suggest that I would—" She drew in a breath. "I'm glad to hear you think so little of me. Good night."

She slammed the phone down, and Grant waited for a couple of minutes before taking the tea back out. She was standing with her arms folded, staring at the wall. "I should probably go," Grant said, setting the tray with the tea cups down on the table.

"Please, don't," she said, turning to look at him. "I should very much like the company of someone sensible right now." She smiled a little. "Please stay."

"Okay," he said. He smiled as he sat back down. "I'll have to remember to tell Jefferson you called me sensible. He tends to argue that I'm not."

She laughed a little at that and sat back down, picking up her tea cup. "That sounds like a terribly older-brother thing to say." She took a sip of her tea. "I'm sorry you had to hear all that," she said, nodding at her phone.

Grant waved away the apology. "Don't worry about it. Is, ah, is everything okay?"

"Things have been a bit difficult between Fred and I lately," she sighed. "He doesn't really approve of my political goals. And it's taking time away from our relationship."

Grant nodded, very unsure of what he should say. Fortunately, it seemed like he didn't need to say anything, just listen.

"I do feel badly about that," she went on. "I don't mean to neglect him. And his reasons for not wanting me to run for mayor are a bit old fashioned, but I know he means well. And he does support me in it, I just wish he would be a bit more…well, a bit more explicit about it." She sighed. "It's just, well, it's a stressful time. It will blow over soon, I expect."

"I'm sorry," he said. "Relationships are tough."

She smiled and nodded in agreement. "Never quite what one imagines as a child thinking about the future, is it?"

Grant chuckled. "No. I think eight-year-old me would be disappointed I'm still single."

Elizabeth smiled. "My younger self would be very put out that I've ended up with someone who can't cook." She smiled, her eyes dancing with memories. "I was never particularly conventional—playing house and all that—but I did often imagine myself meeting someone I could go on adventures with. Slaying dragons and such, you know?"

Grant smiled. "Yeah. Someone fighting your battles with you. The two of you against the world." His smile softened. "And on a smaller scale, I always wanted someone I could dance with." He blushed a little as Elizabeth looked at him curiously. "I don't know how—Jeff used to like to tease me about how awful I am—but I always thought it would be nice."

"That sounds lovely," Elizabeth agreed. She looked down at the papers spread across her coffee table. "I think I've finished with this for the night. I can't manage something this complex right now." She leaned back in her chair with her teacup and grabbed a cookie up off the plate. "Let's talk about something else. What made you decide to become a baker?"

They talked for a while, sharing stories about their childhoods. Grant couldn't shake the feeling that there was something familiar about it—that he'd heard these stories before, some sort of half-forgotten dreams.

Occasionally, Elizabeth would pick up a trinket from one of her shelves to illustrate her story. Several of them involved her music boxes, of which there were many. "Okay, I have to ask," Grant said. He pointed to one sitting on the top shelf, one he remembered her saying before was sentimental. It was incredibly ugly, covered with seashells glued on in a haphazard, tacky pattern. "What's the story behind this one?"

Elizabeth stood up and pulled it off the shelf, then put it on the coffee table as she sat again. "I've had it for a long time," she said. "Longer than I can remember, to be honest." She frowned thoughtfully at it. "To be honest, I…I don't remember where it came from. It was a gift, I know that much. A gift from someone…someone I loved very much." She sighed. "I suppose it sounds daft to say I can't remember who that person is, but…"

"No," Grant said, and it didn't. He often found that he came up with blank spots when he tried too hard to think about the distant past. Maybe that just happened when you got older.

"Just having it nearby, it, it makes me happy," she went on. "And when I listen to it, I feel…It's hard to say what I feel, only that when everything seems to be going wrong, it's a bit more right when I listen to the song." She paused. "I've been listening to it a lot lately."

"What's it sound like?" he wondered.

In response, she reached down and opened it and twisted the little dial on the back. A sweet, beautiful tune began to play, and for some reason Grant couldn't explain, it suddenly took everything he had not to cry. She was right, though. He didn't know why listening to it hurt so much, but it made something feel right, too. He closed his eyes and listened, and he felt like he almost saw something, something with a crackling fire, worn wood beneath his bare feet, falling night, and soft hands in his and someone's heart beating against his chest.

"Wow," he whispered when the song ended. He looked up at her, and her hazel eyes were sparkling amber in the lamplight. "That's a great song."

"It is, isn't it?" she agreed, smiling at him softly.

Over the next couple of weeks, Grant thought about that song a lot. He caught himself humming it every now and then, and he realized once he was doing it behind the counter of the bakery and Jefferson was sitting in the corner with a cup of coffee grinning at him, though he didn't say anything.

The campaign seemed to be going well too. They'd gotten a design together for the posters and when Jefferson picked them up at the print shop, they looked great. Elizabeth had nailed down what she thought her key platform should be, and Angie had written up a couple of great versions of a speech. Edwin had gleefully gone around town and put the posters up, and when Grant went by Granny's diner, everyone seemed to be talking about Elizabeth's candidacy excitedly.

A week later, Grant came home from the market on his lunch break to find Mayor Mills and Sheriff Humbert waiting on his doorstep. "Mayor Mills," he greeted. "Sheriff." He shifted his groceries to one hand so he could shake theirs.

"Mr. Rogers," the mayor greeted. She was smiling in a way that made Grant very uncomfortable. "Can we speak to you inside? There's something I'd like to discuss."

"Um, sure," he said, digging for his keys and feeling a little nervous. He didn't think he'd ever actually spoken with the mayor, and the presence of the sheriff seemed a little confrontational.

He let them in and turned on the lights. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

"I've come to speak to you about a legal matter," she said. She nodded at the sheriff, and he stepped forward and handed Grant an envelope. "Am I correct in understanding that this is where Miss Carter has been holding her campaign planning meetings?"

"Yes," Grant said slowly. There was nothing wrong with that, but the mayor's uncomfortable smile grew wider.

"And am I also correct in understanding that you don't have a permit to conduct political matters in your place of business?" she asked.

"What?" Grant replied. That was the first he'd heard of such a thing.

"That would be a 'no', then," she said with a smile. "I'm afraid what you've been doing is illegal," she said. "And seeing as it's been going on for so long, that _has_ had an impact on the fine."

"The fine?" he repeated. She nodded at the envelope and he looked down and opened it. He read it over, and for a moment, forgot how to breathe. "I…" he breathed. He looked back up at the mayor. "Are you sure this is right? I've never heard of this law before."

The sympathetic smile she gave him was anything but. "It's hardly the city's fault if you don't know what the rules are," she said.

Grant looked back down at the letter, then up at her again. "I can't pay this," he said. It was almost as much as he had left to pay on the mortgage on the bakery.

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to come with me," the sheriff said, speaking for the first time.

Grant gaped. "I'm…You're arresting me?"

"I'm afraid so." The sheriff _did_ look a little apologetic about it, but that didn't do much to help.

He got permission to go in the back and turn off the ovens so the place didn't burn down while he was gone, but then he was being handcuffed and walked down to the police car parked out front. It was a quick ride down to the sheriff's office and the jail, where he found himself being deposited into one of the two cells.

"Graham," Grant said, looking across at the sheriff. "Please, this has…this has got to be some kind of mistake."

The sheriff sighed. "I'm afraid it's not. The law's there on the books. It's an honest mistake to make, and I'll be the first to agree the fine's a little steep. We'll find you a lawyer, and I'm sure they can get it down. Do you have a lawyer in mind?"

Grant sighed. "Elizabeth, I guess." She was clearly not in the mayor's good books right now, but she was a great lawyer.

The sheriff nodded. "I'll give her a call." He walked out.

Grant sighed and dropped down onto the bed. What the hell had just happened?

Elizabeth arrived half an hour later, and she seemed just as perplexed as Grant about the law. "It's ridiculous," she said. "I've never seen this law. And the law is my job." She frowned. "Why did they come after you anyway? I'm the one organizing the meetings."

Grant sighed. "According to the letter, you're allowed to organize the meetings, but business owners aren't allowed to host political events without permits." He nodded in the direction of the door. "The letter's with my other stuff. I don't know where the sheriff put it, but maybe he'll let you take it."

She nodded. "I'll go and sort this." She reached through the bars and squeezed his hand. "I'm terribly sorry for getting you into this. But it will be alright. I'll fix it."

He smiled. "I know you will. I've got the best lawyer in town."

She smiled back, then turned and left, a business-like click of her heels on the floor as she walked.

It was nearly dark by the time anyone came back. The sheriff came and unlocked the cell and told him he could go, saying his fine had been taken care of. He gave him back his keys and wallet and waved him out the door with another apology. To Grant's surprise, it wasn't Elizabeth waiting for him outside, but Jefferson.

"Jeff?" he asked in surprise.

"Hey, man," Jefferson said, getting up off the bench he'd been waiting on. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Grant replied. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought you might need a ride," he said, gesturing to his car. "And I brought you this." He handed Grant a piece of paper stating that he was permitted to host a political gathering of no more than seven participants no more than once a week. "Figured you were going to need that," he said when Grant looked back up at him. He handed him another piece of paper. "Also brought you that."

"You…you paid my fine?" Grant asked, looking down at the receipt in his hand.

Jefferson nodded.

"Did Elizabeth get it reduced?"

Jefferson shook his head.

"Jeff," Grant began, swallowing hard. "Jeff, that was a lot of money."

"I know," Jefferson replied. He shrugged. "I've got a lot of it. It's fine."

"Jeff—"

"Grant," Jefferson cut him off. "Listen. You needed help. I helped you. That's how we work, you and me. It's not a problem; I'm happy to do it; and if you try to pay me back, I'll punch you."

Grant smiled in spite of himself at that. "Thank you," he said softly.

Jefferson clapped him on the shoulder. "You're welcome." He grinned. "You should have seen the mayor's face. Elizabeth was raking her over the coals—which, by the way, remind me to _never_ argue with that woman—but she wasn't budging, just going on about how the law was the law and exceptions couldn't be made, because where was the justice in that? On and on, and you could tell she was enjoying every minute of it."

"Why?" Grant wondered. "I mean, I get that she may not be happy to have competition in the election, but—"

"Oh, she hates you," Jefferson said. "You and Elizabeth. This was a way to dig at you both. So, yeah, she was enjoying it. But not as much as I enjoyed the look on her face when I walked in and handed her the receipt showing I'd paid for it all. The letter of the law said you had to have a permit and pay the fine, so she couldn't argue with it, even though I could tell she wanted this to go on for a while. It was beautiful."

Grant wasn't sure what to say to that—it seemed bizarre that the mayor would hate him, but what happened today sure seemed to point that way. He certainly cared much less for her than he did this morning. "Thank you," he said again, and Jefferson nodded and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Least I could do," Jefferson told him. "Come on; I'll take you home. I thought about making you dinner, but I think we'd both be happier with Chinese takeout, which should be getting there about the same time we do."

They went back to the bakery and ate, and Jefferson listened as Grant tried to process what the hell had just happened with his day. Elizabeth came over the next morning to check in with him.

"I'm so sorry about yesterday," she said. "I know you were counting on me to help get you out of there, and then you ended up having to pay the whole fine anyway."

"It's okay," Grant assured her.

"I just don't understand it," she said. "There was no legal reason for her to hold so firmly to not bringing the fine down. It was almost as if she was saying no just for the hell of it; like she was enjoying the whole thing."

"According to Jefferson, she was," Grant said. "He was telling me that she hates us."

"It certainly felt that way," she agreed. "Though I can't see what she'd have against you. _I'm_ the one running against her."

"I don't know," Grant sighed. "Jeff got a little…" He knew Elizabeth knew Jefferson had been struggling lately, but knowing someone was having trouble and knowing they believed in a magical time curse were two different things. "He wasn't clear on why he thought she hated me, but I was definitely picking up that vibe from her."

"It's bizarre," Elizabeth said. "And it's so…petty and vindictive."

"Great campaign slogan for a mayor," Grant chuckled.

Elizabeth laughed, then reached over the counter and rested her hand on his arm. "I really am sorry. I understand if you want to pull out of this. And I'm sure we can cobble up some money to help you with the fine."

"Don't worry about it," Grant said. "Jeff covered the fine, and then he threatened to punch me if I tried to pay him back, so…"

Elizabeth smiled. "He's a good friend."

Grant nodded. "He is. And so are you. I'm not going anywhere."

The way she smiled at him then made him forget where he was for a minute, and he cursed inwardly as the little bell over the door rang.

"Oh, good, you're both here!" Rose said. She smacked her ever-present pile of research folders down onto the counter. "So, listen, you know how we were all confused about that political permit thing?"

Grant and Elizabeth nodded.

"And we both know Lizzy is the best lawyer this town has, so, if she doesn't know about a law, that says something is super-sketch to me, so I did some digging." She rifled through her folders for a minute and pulled out a piece of paper. "That law _is_ on the books, so, technically, you _were_ in violation of it, but! Look at this," she went on, tapping something in the middle of the paper. "Look at when that law went into effect."

"Two days ago?!" Elizabeth said.

"Yep," Rose said, smiling like she'd just solved a puzzle. "The day before you got arrested."

Grant gaped. "That is…"

"Totally legal but horrifyingly unethical?" Rose finished for him. "Yep."

Grant grinned, and Elizabeth looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "Why are you smiling? The mayor just did something incredibly awful."

"I know," he said. "You must be scaring the crap out of her."

"This is a good sign, right?" Rose said. "I mean," she added, turning to Grant. "Pretty sucky for you, but a good sign for the campaign, if you can rattle her this much."

"Yes, I suppose," Elizabeth agreed, but she didn't seem thrilled about that.

"What's up?" Grant asked.

"I am glad that I seem to have Regina on her toes," Elizabeth said. "But can I really be selfish enough to push on with this if she's going to retaliate by punishing people I care about?"

"Go for it," Grant said without hesitating. "She's the one who turned up the heat, here. Let's take her down."

* * *

_The Enchanted Forest_

"Excuse me," a distinguished voice said from the doorway of the bakery. "I know you typically sell the finished product, but is there any chance I might buy a sack of flour?"

"Sure," Steve said. "Store room's back there," he said, nodding at a small door. "Go pick one out and I'll be back in a minute to weigh it."

"Thank you," Jarvis said, tipping his hat and disappearing into the back room where several other members of the resistance were gathered.

After deciding to join the resistance a year and a half ago, things had moved quickly for Steve and Peggy. It had taken a little work to get into—and that was fair enough, because a good resistance didn't want to accidentally let spies in, but that was where some of Bucky's older business contacts had come in handy. Bucky knew people _everywhere_. The bakery had soon become a meeting place—everyone needed to go to the bakery, and so it was the perfect place for meetings, planning sessions, and covert passing of goods and information. Steve had even figured out how to conceal information on rolled up pieces of paper inside the bread without burning them—that had taken some practice, but he'd gotten it down. Most of his job, by nature of being the person everyone expected out front, was hiding the information in the bread and acting as a gatekeeper for the secret goings-on in the back of house. Peggy organized most of the local resistance events, and Bucky was their connection to other groups. He had even gotten them in touch with Princess Snow White herself. That was what the meeting in the back was about.

Steve helped the rest of the customers in the store, and just as he was getting ready to head back and check on the meeting, the bell over the door rang and two soldiers came in. Steve stepped on a button underneath the counter and greeted the soldiers with a smile. "Good morning, gentlemen. How can I help you today? You here for lunch? I've got some fresh bread just about to come out of the oven."

"No," said the one in front. "Royal business." He unfolded a piece of parchment from inside his coat pocket. "News of anti-royalists holding frequent gatherings in this neighborhood. This is a warrant to search the premises."

"Oh," Steve said, taking the warrant and looking it over. Okay, good, this was a warrant to search everything in the neighborhood. Nothing sticking out about here in particular. "Sure, sure, of course. We certainly don't want any of that kind of trouble in here. Feel free to look wherever you like."

One of them went to look upstairs, and the other asked Steve to show him the main floor of the bakery. Steve showed him the kitchen, and he poked around a little, satisfying himself that there were no secret passages. "What's that room there?" he asked, pointing to the meeting room.

"That's the storage room, sir," he said. "Come on in." He led him inside, and Peggy was there, giving orders to Angie.

"Just fetch that top one down," she said, pointing at a pile of sugar bags. "Then we'll take it into the kitchen and—oh! Hello," she said, turning around and acting as though she'd just noticed the soldier.

Steve walked over to her and slipped an arm over her shoulders. "This is my wife," he said, and Peggy curtsied a little awkwardly and rested a hand on her stomach where there was a small sack of flour tucked underneath her shirt. They'd quickly learned that a pregnant woman evoked more sympathy points from the soldiers, and a man and his wife just about to start their family added credibility to the idea that they didn't want any trouble. And if things got a little dicey, an overly emotional, weeping pregnant woman made the soldiers very uncomfortable and quicker to clear out. (That last part had been Angie's idea, and they'd only had to do it once. Peggy had blushed for about a day and a half afterwards, but it had worked.)

"And this is our assistant," Steve added, nodding at Angie.

"How do you do, sir?" Angie said, curtsying more gracefully then Peggy had. "I don't suppose you could help me get that big bag of sugar down, could you? It's a little hard to reach, and you do look _awfully_ strong."

The soldier smiled and stepped forward to help her get the bag down and she followed him to the kitchen to show him where to put it, complimenting how easily he'd managed that all the while.

"Dear Lord, she's laying it on a bit thick," Peggy whispered.

"She is the actress," Steve said. "Sounds like he's eating it up."

They walked back out into the main room of the bakery where Angie was leaning on the counter and giggling, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. The soldier was flirting back, but jumped to attention when his comrade came down the stairs.

"Everything seems alright here," he said. "I don't suppose you folks have noticed anything unusual going on around the area?"

"Well," Peggy said thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it, sir, you know the old blacksmith's shop two streets over? Boarded up for _months_ it's been, but an awful lot of people seem to be passing by for a place that should be closed. And not all of them looking as though they belong in this part of town, if you catch my meaning." She sighed, and rubbed a hand over the sack of flour under her shirt. "I _do_ hope whoever you're after, you find them soon. I can't abide the thought of that sort of trouble in the neighborhood."

They thanked them for their time and left, assuring Peggy they would look into it. Steve, Peggy and Angie waited a few minutes until they had turned the corner, then Steve snorted and looked down at Peggy. " _Angie_ was laying it on a bit thick?"

" _I_ wasn't caressing his muscles," Peggy shot back, pulling the flour sack out from under her shirt and shaking the loose flour free. "And last time we did this, I was told I wasn't acting the part of the worried mother enough."

"You've gotta embrace the role," Angie said, unperturbed. "Worried mother—go all in. I'm telling you, bring out those tears more often. Attractive young assistant?" she went on, pointing to herself. "I am going to caress his muscles and kiss his cheek if I have to and save all our skins."

"We appreciate your sacrifice," Peggy said, and Angie rolled her eyes.

"Are they gone?" came Rose's voice from the store room.

"They're gone," Steve called back.

"Can someone come help me with Jarvis, then?" she asked.

There were several hiding spots built into the storage room—Steve wasn't sure which Rose had chosen, but Jarvis had been in one of the barrels and had gotten stuck. "I don't see why I have to hide in the barrel so often," he complained after Steve helped him out, brushing flour from his vest.

"Because it's the best place to hide in here, and you've got legs long enough to get up into it quickly, darling," said Jarvis's wife, unfolding herself from behind a cupboard. She kissed his cheek. "Angie, dear, your performance was wonderful."

"Thank you, Ana," Angie said, beaming.

"Did you guys make enough progress to break it up?" Steve asked. Usually they split off home fairly quickly after soldiers came by.

"We did," Peggy said. "I'll fill you in later."

He nodded and went back out to mind the front. Ana and Jarvis left, and Rose and Angie copied out the dates and locations of the next operation for Steve to bake into bread to pass out to the rest of the members tomorrow. The rest of the afternoon went smoothly, and when they went upstairs for the evening, Peggy filled Steve in on the newest plan.

There was going to be a raid, and they were going to need all hands on deck. Steve had never really thought of himself as much of a fighter before—well, a _physical_ fighter anyway, but it was turning out to be a hidden talent. His size probably had something to do with it, but he'd aced his hand to hand training with the other members of the resistance, and though he didn't have much skill with a sword, he was great with a shield and bow. (Peggy was the sword-fighter of the family.) Two nights from now, they were going to attack a supply train headed for the palace. Losing the supplies would be a blow to the queen's army, and the supplies would be redistributed in some of the poorer villages along with messages of encouragement from Snow.

The day of the raid came, and Steve was a little on edge as he always was before a battle, but the day passed without incident. He closed up the shop and he and Peggy slipped out the back, heading for the rendez-vous point. Jarvis and Ana were there, as were Angie, Rose, Bucky, and several other faces that Steve recognized. Once everyone had arrived, they all looked to Colonel Phillips, the local leader of the resistance, but to their surprise, he only welcomed them all, then stepped back, gesturing to a figure waiting in the shadows. Everyone gasped as Snow White herself stepped into the firelight.

She thanked them all for coming, told them she knew how difficult this fight was, and laid out the battle plan for the evening. Things moved quickly after that as they all moved into position.

The element of surprise gained them a lot of ground, but then the fighting began in earnest. Steve stayed closed to Peggy—they complemented each other in how they fought, her with the sword and him with the shield, and it was always kind of thrilling being in action with her. They plowed their way to the first wagon in the train, and Steve shielded Peggy as she ducked down and disabled the wheels so they couldn't flee with the supplies, then they repeated the move in turn all down the train.

"Peggy, duck!" Steve called just as she was getting up from the last wheel. She threw herself to the ground, and Steve flung himself forward and caught the arrow coming at her head with his shield. She jumped up, sword slashing at the soldier coming around the wagon toward Steve's back, and Steve left her to that one as he swung his shield up to smash into the soldier appearing out of the darkness.

"Teamwork," Peggy said with a grin, kissing him quickly on the nose before they moved up the road to where the fighting was thicker.

"They're breaking through toward the river!" Phillips' voice came over the crowd, and that was the cue for the archers to get after the fleeing soldiers. They couldn't let any of them escape to get back to the queen with news of what happened.

"Go!" Peggy told him. "We've got it here." She kissed him again. "Be careful," she whispered.

Steve nodded and hurried off. "Buck!" he called before leaving the firelight.

"Behind you," Bucky said, appearing out of the darkness. "Let's go."

"How do you do that?" Steve wondered as they hurried into the trees. He never heard him sneaking up like that.

Bucky just chuckled and told him to be quiet, and the chase was on. Steve had lived in the village for years now, but on nights like these, his childhood in the woods came rushing back. His feet remembered how to move over the underbrush, his eyes remembered the difference between shadows and movement, and his lungs remembered how to breath quick and quiet, helping him blend into the forest. He and Bucky slunk through the shadows, the footsteps of the soldiers ahead of them.

A little whistle that sounded like a bird came from Bucky, and Steve slowed his pace and moved off to the right. A soldier was in front of them, and they quickly pinned him between them, then moved on to the next. Soon, the night was quiet, and a quick sweep showed them the forest was clear. They grouped up with the rest of the archers, gathered what weapons they could from the fallen soldiers, and herded the ones who had surrendered back to the wagon train.

As they approached the firelight, they could see the fighting had died down there too. "Good job tonight, Stevie," Bucky said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"You too," Steve said with a smile. There was something in the way Bucky carried himself now, something that hadn't been there since all of this started, that made him step a little faster and move a little lighter. Steve thought sometime he felt that way too. They hadn't won this war, not yet, but they were getting closer, and the knowledge that they were doing something buoyed them up.

As they got closer to the firelight, Steve started searching the crowd for Peggy, and he soon spotted her. He waved to catch her attention, and she hurried over. "Are you alright?" she asked, hugging him tightly.

"I'm fine," he said, kissing the top of her head. "You okay?"

"Just fine," she assured him, and he sighed in relief. She was a great fighter and she had a good team, but he always worried about her when they went into combat. He knew she felt the same way about him.

They regrouped and made plans to parcel out the supplies and get safely back to where they had come from. As they did so, Snow White moved through the crowd. She was checking on the wounded and making sure everyone was alright, and her concern was genuine. Steve smiled as he watched her. That was what a queen should be like. That was why they were fighting.

They made it back into town and home without trouble, and they quickly washed and went to bed. Thankfully, the next day was the usual day for the bakery to be closed. Steve never closed the bakery the day after an operation if it wasn't the normal schedule since there were pretenses to keep up, but it was always exhausting working a full day after something like that.

The next couple of days passed quietly. They tried to keep gaps in the meetings after a big operation for safety's sake, though everyone usually came by at some point to get bread anyway. They saw Jarvis and Ana and Rose and Angie, and Bucky was in a few times with Grace.

About a week after the raid, Steve and Peggy had just gone to bed when there was a frantic knocking at the door downstairs. They looked at one another in alarm, then slowly made their way down as the knocking continued. Peggy picked up her sword as they reached the stairs, holding it hidden behind her nightgown.

It was difficult to see anything out the window, but Steve could see enough to tell there wasn't a crowd of soldiers waiting in the dark. He unbolted the door and eased it open just enough to peek outside, ready to slam it shut if he needed to. To his surprise, it wasn't a soldier or anyone from the resistance standing on the step, but a little girl. "Grace?" he asked, opening the door wider.

As soon as the door was open far enough, she flung herself inside and into Steve's midsection with a sob. "Grace?" he said again, kneeling to wrap his arms around her. He saw no sign of Bucky in the darkness beyond. Peggy stepped around him and peered into the night, and when she saw no sign of him either, she shut the door and locked it again and lit the lamp.

Steve's eyes went wide as he caught sight of Grace in the light. Her eyes were red and puffy and her cheeks stained with tears—she'd been crying for a long time. There were twigs stuck in her hair and tears in her dress and she was shaking as she clung to Steve.

"Grace, what happened?" he asked.

She tried to answer, but her words came out in a garbled sob and she burst into tears again. Steve hugged her tighter and tucked her head under his chin, looking up worriedly at Peggy. After a few minutes of this, he picked her up carefully and moved for the stairs. Peggy went up ahead of him and stoked up the remains of the fire, and Steve carried Grace over to the front of the fire and sat down in his chair with her on his lap. Peggy got her a glass of water, and she started to calm down as she took a few sips.

"Grace, sweetheart, what happened?" Steve asked. "Are you okay?"

She sniffed. "They came and took my papa," she said quietly.

"Who did?" Peggy asked gently.

"The soldiers," she said softly.

"The soldiers came and took Bucky?" Steve asked. She nodded. "Do you know why?"

"They said," she started, then sniffed. "They said…They said the queen wanted to talk to him. And he said what for, and they wouldn't tell him in front of me, so one of them took me over to the corner of the cabin and the other ones started talking real quiet to him. I don't know what they said, but he kept looking at me like he was scared. Then they made the one soldier take me outside, and a few minutes later he came out and said he was gonna go with them." She swallowed hard. "I asked him not to, and he looked like he wanted to cry and said he had to. Then he said he loved me and everything was going to be okay and he would be back before it got dark." Her lip trembled and tears welled up in her eyes. "That was yesterday morning," she whispered.

Steve's heart dropped into his stomach.

"You've been all on your own out in the cabin since yesterday?" Peggy asked softly.

Grace nodded. "I was waiting for him to come back. But I'm scared now that something happened." Peggy looked up at Steve, and Grace curled closer into him. "Something bad did happen, didn't it?" she asked quietly.

"Maybe," Steve said after a minute. "But, hey, we'll figure it out, okay? We'll find out where they took him."

She sniffed and nodded.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "Did they hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No. They left me alone. But then when I was coming to town, I was hiding from them in the bushes any time I saw soldiers on the road. And I tripped and fell a couple of times after it got dark," she added, which at least explained her disheveled appearance.

Peggy smiled at her warmly. "Why don't we get you a nice hot bath and something to eat, hey?" she asked with a warm smile. "We'll see if that helps a bit."

"Okay," Grace whispered.

Steve got the tub out and heated the water, then retreated to the bedroom while Peggy helped Grace clean up. He could hear her talking softly with the ten-year-old in warm, soothing tones, though he couldn't make out what either of them were saying. He came back out when they were done and emptied the tub. Grace was sitting quietly at the table nibbling on some bread. Peggy got her a cup of tea, then came to help him put the tub away.

"She told me a bit more of what happened," Peggy said quietly. "They took something with them when they left. She didn't know what it was, but based on the box she described, I think it was Bucky's hat."

Steve's eyes widened. Bucky had sworn off portal-jumping, but he'd kept the hat because destroying a magical object like that could be dangerous. "What could make him use that again?" he whispered. Bucky had resisted the temptations of everything he knew the hat could offer after he'd lost Priscilla, even when he and Grace had been desperate for money. Steve couldn't imagine anything that could make him pick it back up again. Except… His eyes went wider as realization dawned. "Grace," he whispered. "The queen must have threatened Grace."

Peggy nodded. "That's what I thought too. If they were giving him the choice of going with them and helping the queen or watching them kill his daughter in front of him…"

Steve sighed. "No wonder Grace said he looked so scared." He shook his head. "And if he hasn't come back yet…"

Peggy opened her mouth to respond, but stopped as they heard a muffled sob from Grace. "We'll have to talk about it later," she said softly, and they both moved back over to where Grace was sitting.

Grace was clearly exhausted, and Steve wondered if she'd slept at all while she waited at home worrying about her father. They put out the fire and went to bed, settling Grace down on the mattress between them instead of leaving her out on the couch alone in her fear. She fell asleep almost immediately, but Steve spent a long time staring at the ceiling and thinking. The queen's summons didn't seem to have anything to do with Bucky's part in the resistance since she'd demanded he bring his hat. Steve wondered vaguely how she knew about that—Bucky hadn't offered his portal-jumping services for so long. She'd wanted something from him, and whatever the soldiers had told him, it had evidently been convincing enough for Bucky to believe he would be back. He wouldn't have told Grace to wait if he thought they were taking him off to kill him—he would have sent her to Steve and Peggy right away. The most obvious answer, then, was that Regina had double-crossed him. It was well within the realm of possibilities, but had that double-cross resulted in his death or imprisonment? Worried tears prickled in Steve's eyes, and it was a long time before he fell asleep.

Over the next few days, they tried to figure out where Bucky had gone. The first obvious place to check was the jail, and when that turned up nothing, they had contacts in the resistance start checking the jails in other towns. They even had a spy in the palace who told them there was no sign of him in either the jail in the capital city or the palace dungeons.

The search expanded then—enough people went missing in the resistance that there was an established network for searching out of the way places. News kept coming back negative, and Steve quietly began a search of records of deaths, praying he wouldn't find his friend's name there.

In the meantime, the resistance went on, and soon the tide began to turn. Snow White and the rebels were able to take back the capital city and the palace, though Regina continued to fight while on the run. Her magic was strong enough to keep them from finding her, wherever she was hiding, and though her own forces were dwindling, she fought back with enough ferocity to keep the battle going. Snow White was officially crowned Queen, and while it was a joyous occasion, there wasn't time for much celebrating as the war continued.

Steve and Peggy split their time in the fight now—they took it in turns to stay home with Grace while the other went out for operations. Though they each hated the thought of the other fighting without them, it seemed cruel to risk the possibility of something going wrong and leaving Grace alone in the world.

Grace, meanwhile, was understandably taking her father's disappearance badly. She ate very little, slept very badly and was constantly on the verge of tears. Afraid she was going to make herself sick, Steve eventually managed to coax her into eating more by asking what Bucky would think of Steve when he came back, not taking care of his little girl and letting her get sick like that. He'd never let Grace come stay with them again. Steve felt guilty framing it that way, but it seemed to do the trick.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Steve," she said. "You and Aunt Peggy have been so nice to me, and I wouldn't want for you to get in trouble." She frowned thoughtfully. "And Papa would want me to take care of myself," she decided. "I'm sure he's worried about me right now, and I'll bet he'd be even more worried if he knew I wasn't doing good."

Steve smiled sadly and pushed her plate a little closer, and she looked at it as though making a decision, then picked up her sandwich and took a bite. "He worries so much because he cares, you know," Steve told her. "He used to worry about me all the time when we were kids…" While she ate, he told her a story about Bucky taking care of him when he'd been really sick, trying not to think about the fact that Grace had her father's eyes, and the way their worried, tearful expression looked exactly like Bucky's had all those years ago.

Grace started to turn a corner as the days went by—still obviously worried about her father, but doing the best she could to keep on. Steve and Peggy made sure she felt safe voicing her worries to them, and they made sure to let her know she wasn't the only one worried either. Knowing that she wasn't alone in it seemed to hearten her. She still followed the two of them around like a shadow, but she allowed herself to be distracted with chores and things to do around the bakery, and she was getting by.

"I've got some news," Peggy said softly as they crawled into bed one night. Steve looked at her nervously, trying not to get too hopeful. If it had been good news, she wouldn't have waited until Grace had gone to bed. (She was sleeping on the couch now—after it was clear that finding Bucky was going to take a while, Steve had gone back out to their cabin to get some of her things for her. Among them had been a pile of quilts, and she had taken to bundling up in the lot of them every night and snuggling down on the couch to sleep. Steve suspected they smelled like Bucky and home.)

"Is he…" Steve started worriedly.

"I didn't find his name on a death notice," Peggy said, and Steve breathed a little easier. Four months of searching for his best friend had turned up nothing so far, and while that was good when it came to death notices, it was just making that knot in Steve's gut twist tighter and tighter every day. "But it's not a very concrete lead either."

"What is it?"

"You know the spy from the palace who told us about the dungeons?" she asked.

Steve nodded.

"She's done a bit more digging around in the palace now that Regina's gone," she said. "Apparently, someone matching Bucky's description entered the palace on the day Bucky left the cabin. One of the serving maids saw him, and remembered his clothes and his hair and thought he didn't look like the sort of person who was usually summoned to the queen's private chambers."

Steve arched a surprised eyebrow.

"She described him as carrying what I'm fairly certain was Bucky's hatbox," Peggy went on. "And thank goodness for serving maids with their minds in the gutter, because she waited nearby to see how long it took him to come out."

"When did he?" Steve asked.

Peggy shook her head. "He didn't. The guards left, and later the queen left as well, but the man never came out. The maid went in, of course, to snoop about and act like she was cleaning, and saw no sign that anyone but the queen had been anywhere in the chambers."

"That's weird," Steve said. "If she had him killed or arrested…"

"Where did he go?" Peggy finished for him. "The only way to kill someone and get them out of the room unnoticed would be to throw them out the balcony window, which isn't really unnoticed because of all the gardeners."

"Did the serving maid see the hat anywhere?" Steve wondered.

"No, but she remembered seeing what looked like the box it was in tucked into the back of one of the wardrobes."

"What if…" Steve started, thinking aloud. "If she made him use the hat, could she have…left him somewhere?" He knew the hat acted as a doorway to other realms with the right spells, but not much beyond that. If he'd been somewhere and Regina…cut off the magic somehow, without the hat to open the door again, he wouldn't be able to get back.

"That's what I was thinking," Peggy said. She sighed. "If that's the case, it certainly complicates things."

Steve let out a huff of air in agreement, not sure what else to say. If Bucky was stuck in some other realm…How in the hell were they supposed to get him back? Steve's experience with magic was limited to that incident with the magician and his brief stint in poultry transformation, and Peggy had none at all. Bucky was the only one of them who knew anything about magic—and portal magic was a lot different than other, more common kinds. There was also the uncomfortable fact that he'd been gone for four months at this point—if he'd been able to get himself home, he would have done it by now.

"Could we hire someone?" Peggy wondered. "I don't even know how one begins to look for a portal-jumper."

"No," Steve agreed. "But they've got to advertise somehow. Bucky wasn't the only portal-jumper out there. There's a couple of magicians in the resistance—like that guy, Howard, that Jarvis works for. Maybe he can help us figure out where to look."

Peggy nodded, and they drifted off to sleep. They'd been holding one another closer at night these days—Steve's heart ached for Grace and for his best friend, and he couldn't stop himself from thinking about losing Peggy like that. It would be like being torn in half, losing a part of himself. He hugged her closer and nestled his head down into her hair, breathing in her scent and focusing on the feel of her warm and present in his arms and reminding himself that she was still there.

Their search continued, as did the fight. Though they had the upper hand now, they hadn't won yet, and Regina still made the occasional threats accompanied by a show of power that reminded them they would have to take her down to truly win. Peggy had taken over command of their branch of things when Phillips had been wounded, and Steve was heading communications now for the entire county. He and Peggy would sit up late into the night drawing up strategies and battle plans, usually watched by Grace, who said very little but seemed to enjoy listening to them talk strategy.

Jarvis, meanwhile, had put them in contact with Howard, who found the problem of Bucky's disappearance entirely fascinating. He admitted he knew nothing of portal magic himself, but eagerly began to research it. His first several experiments were wildly unsuccessful—his attempts to transport eggs into other realms tended to result in explosions, and he tried it once with a chicken and made a godawful mess. Howard was undaunted, though, insisting he was learning something each time, but Steve kept looking for actual portal jumpers to get in contact with, which was turning out to be harder than he'd thought. He'd found a couple of leads—someone who knew a guy who had a friend whose cousin once…etc.—and they'd both ended up being about Bucky. Apparently, portal jumpers were rarer than Steve had thought. No wonder Bucky had gotten paid so well for it.

"Grace, can I ask you something?" Steve asked her one night at dinner. She looked up at him expectantly. "Did your dad ever tell you what he did for work before you were born?"

"A little," she said. "Why?" she asked curiously.

"Well," he said. "We were thinking that if we could find someone he used to work with, maybe they could help us find him."

"Oh." Grace took a long, thoughtful drink of water. "Well," she said after a minute. "Papa was always kind of careful about what he told me about that—he said it was dangerous, and I shouldn't know too much about it because he didn't want me to get hurt. So, he didn't tell me about any of the people he worked with." She took another drink. "Except for one of them. There was a man Papa used to work for that didn't like it when he stopped. Papa used to think that maybe he would try to come looking for him. He told me about him because he wanted me to watch out—he said the man was tricky and magic, and if I saw him, I shouldn't talk to him." She frowned. "I don't know if someone like that could help you."

"Maybe not," Steve allowed, but someone with magic could be a hopeful lead. "But we're looking everywhere for your dad, so anyone that could tell us anything could help."

Grace nodded. "He said the man had hair that was long and kind of stringy, and he was skinny and had a high voice. That he would act really friendly, but friendly in a way that made you wonder what he was up to."

Steve nodded. That wasn't an awful lot to go on.

"But Papa said the easiest way to tell it was him was his skin—it was sort of scaly and brownish-green, like an alligator," Grace went on, and she was ten, so her story-telling could use a little bit of work, but that was really where she should have started.

"He had skin like an alligator?" Steve clarified. He looked at Peggy, who looked just as surprised as Steve.

Grace nodded.

"Did your dad say what his name was?" Steve asked.

Grace shook her head. "He said he didn't have a name, but that since people didn't know what it was, sometimes they called him the Dark One."

"Bloody hell," Peggy whispered.

"Is that bad?" Grace wondered, her eyebrows furrowing as she caught Peggy's whisper.

"Well, not…necessarily," Steve said. There had been a couple of years before Bucky had met Priscilla that he and Steve hadn't talked much. Their lives had pulled them in different directions, and Steve always kind of got the impression that Bucky had gotten into some work of questionable legal standing back then, but he'd never talked about it since then. But some shady business deals was one thing, and working for the most powerful magical being the Enchanted Forest had ever known was another. What the hell had Bucky gotten himself into?

"The Dark One is an incredibly powerful magician," Peggy explained. "Your father's right—he is dangerous, but if we go about it right…"

"He _might_ be able to help track down your dad," Steve finished. "If we can find him," he added. He didn't doubt the man's power, but his willingness to help was another issue. It probably wouldn't be cheap, either, but if he could do something, then Steve and Peggy would come up with whatever money they needed.

Despite being the most well-known magician in the kingdom, the Dark One was turning out to be incredibly hard to find. A lot of people knew about him, but very few knew where he was or how to track him down. The only concrete information they could get their hands on was the fact that he was no longer living in his castle in the woods.

The battle for the kingdom had finally drawn to a close—the last of Regina's supporters had given up, though the former queen remained uncaptured. There were still spies and special agents hunting her down, worried about the threats she had made before disappearing, but things were finally starting to return to normal. Steve wished Bucky could be here to see it.

"What if we talked to the Queen?" Peggy asked one day. "She's leaving most of the fighting to the King these days, so she'll be in the palace," she said. Snow and Prince David had gotten married in the early days of the resistance, and were currently expecting a child. She was now far too pregnant to be out in combat, so David was handling the military while she saw to restoring the lives of the kingdom's citizens. "And, not that I think she needs persuading to help, but after the battle at Rushing Creek, she does owe me a favor," Peggy added.

"If anyone had the resources to find either the Dark One or another portal jumper, it would be the Queen," Steve agreed. "Let's do it. I can close up the bakery for a few days and we can go tomorrow." He looked into the kitchen where Grace was washing dishes. "If nothing else, the trip will be a good distraction for her. And if the Queen _can_ help and we can actually find him…" Hope bubbled up in his chest that he hadn't felt for a long time.

"She would want to be there," Peggy agreed.

It was a couple of days' journey to the palace, and he'd been right—traveling and camping along the roadside was a wonderful distraction for Grace. She seemed to be enjoying herself, and he saw her almost smile once or twice. She hadn't smiled at all since they'd lost Bucky.

They woke up on the last day of the journey to a bite in the air. "Storm's coming," Steve said as they packed up camp. "If we walk fast, I think we can make it to town before it hits."

They made good time along the road, but as they went, Steve couldn't shake the feeling this was a different kind of storm.

"Something is odd about this," Peggy said quietly. "I've never felt the air before a storm like this before."

"I know," Steve agreed. It was hard to describe what it was that was wrong—the air felt like it should be sparking with lightning, but there was more than that, some kind of energy trilling up and down his spine that was twisting his stomach into knots. "Let's shelter by that next group of trees until it passes."

They had just made it to the trees when a bolt of purple lightning shot across the clouds with a screech that echoed through the air, seeming to rip the sky in two.

"What was that?" Grace exclaimed.

Steve had no answer for her, and found himself unable to think of anything to say as thunder clouds billowed up in the sky faster than he'd ever seen them. They were thick and dark, black not with rain but with menace, and the purple lightning was flashing between them like fireworks.

Steve was staring up at the sight open-mouthed, and he shook his head and pulled himself together, drawing back against the nearest tree until he felt the wood against his back, pulling Peggy with him. "Grace, come over here," he said, holding out his free hand, but she was already moving.

"What's happening?" she whispered.

"I don't know, but you stay close to us, alright?" he said. She nodded and curled tighter into his side.

The dark clouds were changing color now, a rich, venomous purple, and they were rolling closer and closer to the ground. Steve's instinct was to run, to get as far away from those clouds as possible, but one look at the speed they were moving told him it would do no good. It would be a minute, maybe two before they engulfed them.

"It's got to be Regina," Peggy whispered. "Those curses and threats she kept making—there's no way this is a normal storm."

Steve nodded. "I don't know what this is," Steve said quietly. "I don't know what's going to happen." He pulled his arm as tight around her as he could without hurting her. "But I love you," he told her, not sure why he suddenly felt compelled to say that right this moment, but knowing he would regret it if he didn't. "Remember that, whatever happens next." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," she whispered. "With all my heart."

Grace whimpered, and Steve pulled her closer, feeling Peggy slip one of her arms around the girl too, and they bent down, crouching at the foot of the tree and holding on to one another for dear life. "I'm scared," Grace said shakily.

"Me too," Steve told her. "But we've got you. Just hold on."

She nodded, and Steve felt her little fingers clench even tighter in the folds of his shirt. The air was getting cold and thick, and the purple smoke was barreling down from the sky and along the road toward them. Suddenly it hit, and it was the coldest Steve had ever been and he felt like he was on fire all at the same time. He couldn't see anything, not even Peggy and Grace where he was holding them fast against him, and wind was howling through the clouds so strong and loud he couldn't hear a thing.

There was a crack and a snap and a burst of pain so sharp he wondered if he'd been hit by lightning. Grace shrieked, and he felt her ripped away from under his arm. He tried to call her name and the wind whipped the words away from his throat as he reached out blindly in the direction she'd gone. Then he felt himself being yanked away, Peggy slipping from his grip, and he pulled his arm back in and threw it around her. _No, no, no_! he pleaded, gripping her tighter in desperation, feeling her fingers digging into his back as she tried to do the same. Over the howl of the wind, there was a heart-wrenching tearing sound, and then Steve was flying backwards and Peggy was gone and he was alone, tumbling into oblivion through the howling maelstrom.

He fell for what seemed like forever, tossed through the purple smoke like waves in a storm, chaos exploding through his mind until he couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't even remember his own name. The world was spinning when he landed, and he was lying on his back in a quiet little bedroom that he'd never seen before but had always been his. The smoke faded away and what felt like everything else he knew faded with it, leaving him with the strength to do nothing but close his eyes and keep fading.

When he woke up, his name was Grant, and he'd always lived in Storybrooke.

* * *

_2011_

"Good morning, Sheriff Swan," Grant greeted as the little bell over the door rang.

"Hi," she said, stepping up to the counter.

"Everything alright?" Grant wondered. She was looking a little harried.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, it's…It's fine. A lot going on," she said.

Grant nodded in sympathy. The past few weeks had been some of the strangest he ever remembered. Emma Swan had come to town a few months ago, decided to stay, and somehow ended up running for Sheriff after Sheriff Humbert's sudden heart attack. To nearly everyone's surprise—since Mayor Mills had been backing another candidate—she'd won. She was one of the only people Grant could think of to have defied the Mayor successfully. Things kept getting stranger after that, chief of which was, of course, David waking up from his coma and his wife Kathryn's disappearance and evidence pointing to her gruesome murder, followed by the accusation that the school teacher, Mary Margaret, of all people, had done it. Kathryn had just returned, alive if not entirely well, Mary Margaret had been exonerated, and though the _Daily Mirror_ was keeping mum on the subject, the rumor around town was that Mayor Mills wasn't looking overly innocent of the whole mess. It was a lot for anyone, never mind someone a couple of months into the job. The Sheriff in Storybrooke had never had much to do in the way of crimes more serious than parking tickets before now.

"Can I get you anything?" Grant asked. She was in here most mornings on her way to work. Lately, she'd been meeting up with Henry, the biological son she'd recently reunited with and the reason she'd decided to stay in town. Henry was also the Mayor's adopted son—and that situation was a web Grant didn't envy being entangled in.

"Whatever's freshest and some coffee, please," she said.

"Hi, Emma!" Henry called from the doorway. "Hello, Mr. Rogers!"

"Morning, Henry," Grant said, handing Emma a cup of coffee and a sausage roll.

"Sorry, kiddo, I've got to run," Emma said, looking apologetic. She put a ten dollar bill down on the counter. "Let him get whatever he wants, huh?" she asked Grant.

Grant nodded, Emma gave Henry a quick hug and ruffled his hair, and hurried out with her breakfast. "Sorry you missed her this morning," Grant said.

"Oh, that's okay," Henry replied, not looking overly bothered. "She's working on—" He stopped himself, as if worried he was going to reveal a secret. "She has something important to do," he said mysteriously, and Grant chuckled at the boy's seriousness.

Henry picked out a couple of scones and a cup of hot chocolate, then settled down into one of the tables in the corner to eat, flipping through a large, ornate-looking book as he did so. "Don't you have school this morning?" Grant wondered.

"Not for a little while," Henry said. "I'm waiting to meet my friend and we'll walk together. Is it okay if I sit over here?"

"Sure," Grant said. "Just didn't want to get in trouble for making you late."

He served a couple of customers and started cleaning up, noticing that Henry kept looking down at his book and then back up at him with what were probably supposed to be covert glances. "What's up?" Grant asked.

"Nothing," Henry said. He looked back down at the book, then up at Grant again. "You've always been a baker, huh?"

"Yeah," Grant replied, a little confused.

"That's nice, I guess," Henry said, and Grant didn't think he was talking about his profession. "Do you ever get lonely here by yourself?"

"Uh…" Grant didn't really see how Henry's questions connected to each other, and he wasn't sure where this line of questioning was going. Normally when he came in here, he talked to Grant about baseball. "Sometimes, I guess."

Henry nodded, as if that had been the answer he was expecting. "Yeah. It's hard missing someone when you don't know who they are. I missed Emma for a long time before I met her, but at least I knew she was out there somewhere."

"Sorry, I don't think I'm following you," Grant said.

Henry smiled and shrugged. "It's okay. Hopefully, you will soon. I think me and Emma are getting close." That didn't really explain anything, but before Grant could ask what he meant, he jumped up from the table and slid his book back into his backpack. "Oh! My friend's here. I've got to go. Thanks for breakfast!" He picked up his scones and headed outside, handing one of them to a little girl waving through the window. Grant lost his train of thought as he watched them walk away—he would see that little girl around town (he thought her name was Paige), and she always made him think of Jefferson, though he had no idea why.

"He's a good kid," came a voice from behind him. Speaking of Jefferson… His best friend was standing in the stairs from the apartment, leaning against the door. He'd clearly just woken up, though he didn't look like he'd slept well. The dark circles under his eyes were still there, his normally clean-shaven jaw was dark with uneven stubble which should have hidden his jawline, but somehow only accentuated the weight he'd lost, and he was looking paler than normal.

He straightened up and wobbled a little bit, and Grant rushed over to catch him by the arm and steer him to sit down on the nearest stool. "Whoa! Hey, are you okay?"

Jefferson swatted irritably at his hand, but didn't actually shake him off. "I'm fine," he insisted. "I'm always fine," he added with a manic little chuckle.

"Do you want to go back to bed?" Grant asked. Jefferson had been having a rough time of things in the past year since his daughter died in that car accident—he swung back and forth between being close to okay and having some fairly dark depressive episodes, but he'd been on the mend until last week. Grant wasn't sure what had happened last week because Jefferson wouldn't tell him, but whatever it was had completely unhinged him. He'd lost any progress he'd made in his recovery, spent more time talking about magic hats and curses and his enchanted forest than anything else, and spent the rest of the time wandering around listlessly or slumping on the couch and muttering to himself about how he'd been so close and nothing was working and what was the point of anything?

Grant would have been keeping a close eye on him anyway in this state, worried he would hurt himself, but he'd almost called Dr. Hopper last week to get someone professional to jump in. The only thing keeping him from doing it had been the pleading, absolutely miserable look in Jefferson's eyes when Grant picked up the phone.

"Please," he'd begged. "Please, don't." He'd put a hand on Grant's arm and twisted the material of his sleeve desperately into his fist. "You're all I've got left," he'd whispered. "All I've got. Please, don't give up on me. Please, don't lock me up somewhere alone. Please…"

Grant's heart had broken at the plea and the look in his eyes, and he'd hung up the phone and pulled his friend into a hug and promised he wouldn't let him go. Jefferson had collapsed into the embrace and sobbed and apologized and followed Grant meekly back to his house above the bakery. He wouldn't tell Grant what had happened that had led to Grant finding him lying in a pile of glass underneath the broken second-floor study window, just kept saying he was sorry over and over again, and Grant had picked the glass out of his hair and cuts, cleaned him up, and sent him to bed.

His cuts had mostly healed up by now, though there was still one long one running across his cheek that stood out starkly against his pale skin. "No," Jefferson huffed, swatting at Grant's hand again. "I don't want to go back to bed. I don't…" He sighed and sagged down. "I don't want to do this anymore, Stevie," he said sadly. He'd been calling Grant that for a week, and it upset him more than it usually did when Grant corrected him, so Grant had just been letting it go for now.

"Do what?" Grant asked worriedly. This was starting to sound uncomfortably suicidal.

"Any of it," Jefferson sighed. "It's just too hard, and it's not getting better, no matter what I do, and I'm so _tired_." He slumped forward until his head was resting against Grant's chest. "I've run out of ideas," he continued, sounding a little muffled. "Then Emma came, and the clock moved." He looked up, watery eyes meeting Grant's. "Do you remember when the clock moved?" he asked hopefully.

Grant nodded. The clock downtown had been stuck on 8:15 for as long as anybody could remember, but a couple of months ago, it had started working again. He'd always just assumed someone had finally fixed it.

"She's got magic, Steve," Jefferson said. "She's the one. She can fix this—all of this. And I was so hopeful, and then…" He sighed again. "Nothing keeps happening. And I couldn't take it, and I did something stupid, but it doesn't matter, because she doesn't believe in magic anyway. She can do it, but she won't."

Setting aside the ramblings about magic, Grant asked, "What stupid thing did you do?" Was this connected to the broken window?

Jefferson snorted. "You'd lock me up if I told you that."

"I promised I wouldn't," Grant reminded him.

A tiny, grateful smile tugged up one corner of Jefferson's mouth. "Something impulsive and a little bit illegal that ended up with me getting kicked out of the window," he said. Grant's eyebrows went up in surprise. "In retrospect, I could have gone about it a lot better, but I'm falling apart, here. I'm kind of surprised I was able to pull off as much as I did."

"What 'a little bit illegal' thing did you do?" Grant asked worriedly. "And who in the hell kicked you out your window?"

"It was actually probably a lot illegal," Jefferson corrected. "But I won't tell you any more so you won't get in trouble."

"Jeff, that's not—"

"No. Look, nothing's going to happen with it now, and I scared some people, but I swear, I didn't hurt anyone." He blinked sadly up at Grant, and Grant believed that part, at least. "And Snow White was the one who kicked me out the window," he added, almost as an afterthought. "I kind of deserved it."

Grant couldn't remember which of the people in town Jefferson thought was Snow White, but he knew he wasn't going to get anything else out of his friend for now, so he thought he would let it lie in favor of getting him taken care of. And it _had_ been a week—whatever possibly illegal thing he'd done didn't seem to be coming after him. "I think we're going to need to talk about this later," Grant said gently. Jefferson shrugged noncommittally. "But for now, why don't we get you something to eat?"

"Alright," Jefferson sighed. He stayed on the stool, and Grant got him some uncaffeinated tea and a couple of sausage rolls. "Here," Jefferson said, handing him a slightly crumpled piece of newspaper as he took the sausage rolls. "Finished the crossword puzzle for you. You're still terrible at it. Seventeen across has been 'hazel' for twenty-eight years." Grant took the puzzle, which Jefferson had filled out in pen, as he always did. He did them so fast, Grant sometimes wondered if he was even reading the clues.

Jefferson ate his breakfast, his eyes drifting over to the spot where Henry had been sitting earlier. "Maybe the kid can bring her around," he muttered.

"The kid?" Grant asked.

"Henry," Jefferson said. "That book of his has all our stories in it. He's got the truth and he knows it. Maybe she'll listen to him."

Grant just nodded, not sure what to say, and Jefferson didn't sound like he was looking for a response anyway.

He finished eating and Grant finished his cleaning, making sure he was always within eyesight of his friend as he moved around the shop. Jefferson was starting to list over sideways, and he thought maybe he could try another push for taking him back to bed when the chime over the door rang.

"Good morning, Grant," Elizabeth said with a smile.

"Hey," he said, smiling back. "I was wondering if you were going to come in this morning."

"I'm just running a bit late," she said. "Hopefully everything good isn't gone already? Oh, hello, Jefferson," she added, spotting him sitting off to the side. Jefferson nodded back at her, but didn't say anything. "Have I come at a bad time?" she asked, lowering her voice.

"No," Grant assured her, lowering his voice to match hers. He sighed a little. "Not any more than usual." Elizabeth had seen Jefferson a couple of times in this past week when she came in, and while she knew something was wrong, she hadn't pried.

"Do you need help with anything?" she asked softly. She hadn't pried, but she knew Grant was taking care of him, and he felt touched at the offer.

"Thanks, but I think we're alright," he said. He probably _could_ use help, actually, but what kind of help, he wasn't sure.

"Look, I'm gonna go back upstairs and let you two have some space," Jefferson said from his corner. He pushed himself to his feet, wobbled dangerously, and Grant darted over to catch him. Elizabeth moved at the same time, getting under his other arm to prop him up.

Grant blinked in surprise at the speed at which she had moved. "Uh, thanks," he said. "I've got him."

"Nonsense," she replied. "I'm already here. Let me help."

They got Jefferson to the stairs and up, and Grant didn't realize until they were walking him into the bedroom that none of the maneuvering through the stairs and hallway had been awkward, as if they'd known how the other one was going to move.

"Sorry," Jefferson muttered as Grant pulled a blanket up over him, already half asleep. He patted Grant's arm before fading out completely. "Thanks, Stevie."

Elizabeth had tactfully pulled back to the doorway, and Grant sighed and joined her and they moved into the living room. "Thank you," he said.

"Of course," she replied. "Is everything alright?" she asked, sounding concerned.

Grant sighed. "No. Not really."

She nodded, then took a step back and sat herself down on the couch. "How can I help?"

Grant smiled in appreciation at the offer. "Don't you have to go to work?"

She shrugged. "I'm already late." She patted the cushion next to her. "You look like you need to talk."

His smile widened gratefully, and he dropped down next to her. He stared down at his feet for a minute, then sighed. "It's…complicated, what's going on, and, you know, I don't want to share stuff that isn't mine to share, but…" He sighed again, and he couldn't keep all the desperation out of his voice when he spoke again. "I don't know what to do."

She nodded sympathetically and reached over and took one of his hands. "I don't know that I'll know either, but I can listen at least." She squeezed his hand. "Whatever you feel comfortable telling me."

He smiled gratefully, took a moment to gather his thoughts, then started talking. He knew she knew about the car accident, but he started there, talking a little bit about the trouble Jefferson had had since then, and as he saw compassion and no judgement in her expression as she listened, he told her more. He talked about the different ways his friend tried to cope, mentioning his magical forest alternate reality and his theory about the curse.

"Is that why he called you 'Steve' earlier?" she asked.

Grant nodded. "You caught that, huh? Yeah, he…he has this idea that everyone here in town used to live in that magical world of his, with different lives and different names. As tough a time as he's having right now, I've just been answering to 'Steve' and focusing on the bigger stuff."

She nodded. "Does he have another name for me?" she wondered.

Grant nodded. "He calls you Peggy." He didn't mention Jefferson's insistence that she and Grant were supposed to be married.

She nodded. "Interesting." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "There's something about that name…You know, I think I might have had a relative called Peggy." She shook her head. "Sorry. Anyway, so, this forest theory of his, is that connected to what's been going on this week?"

She still didn't sound judgmental of Jefferson's delusions or the way Grant was handling them, which Grant was grateful for. "Yeah, but I'm not sure how, exactly," he said. He told her what Jefferson had told him. "I just…" He sighed. "I've never seen him like this before. I know losing your kid—I can only imagine how much that hurts, but it seems like he's giving up, and that scares me. I'm scared that he'll hurt himself, and now I'm also kind of worried he might hurt someone else without meaning to, and I just…I thought about taking him to Dr. Hopper, but, Elizabeth, you should have seen the look on his face when I said that."

"Was he angry at the suggestion?" she asked.

"No, he was terrified," Grant said. "He said he didn't want to be locked up somewhere alone and he said I was all he had left and he begged me not to give up on him, and…" Grant didn't think Dr. Hopper would have locked Jefferson up somewhere, but with the state he was in, he could see some sort of institutionalization being an option. "I couldn't do anything but bring him here," he said.

Elizabeth nodded in understanding. "I think you made the right choice," she said. "He clearly feels safe with you. I suppose you could always keep the hospital in mind as an option, but I can see how he wouldn't want that. No matter how often you might visit him there, it would still be terribly lonely. It's hard to heal when you're alone."

Grant smiled gratefully. "That's what I thought. I just…I don't feel like I'm doing any good."

She nodded again. "I think you are, but I also think you're wearing yourself out. You've got a full-time job downstairs, plus taking care of him, never mind the emotional toll the worrying is taking. And I doubt you've been sleeping well either," she added, nodding at his blanket and pillow at the other end of the couch.

"Yeah, I'm too tall for the couch," Grant agreed. "But I think he needs the bed more than I do. And I'm not sure how else to manage all of this."

She nodded, considering him thoughtfully. "Will you let me help you?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" he asked. Having someone to talk to did make him feel better, but he wasn't sure what else she could do.

"I mean that you're right, there's really no other way for you to manage this when it's just you. I could help you, with looking after Jefferson, or the bakery perhaps, but you'd have to let me."

His eyes widened as he realized what she was offering. "I…I couldn't ask you to do that."

"You're not," she said with a little smile. "I'm offering. You're my friend and I want to help you."

His instinct was to protest and not accept that sort of charity, but it was so kind of her to offer and he was so touched by it, and it…it just seemed right, somehow, like the two of them _should_ be solving problems together. "Okay," he found himself saying. "I would like that." He smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

She smiled back. "Alright," she said. "Then I'll help you." She looked down at her watch, then stood up. "I've got to go and check in with work, but I'll be back this afternoon. Don't worry about doing anything for dinner—I'll put something together and bring it with me, then we'll hash out a proper plan this evening."

Grant smiled warmly. "Okay. Thank you."

She smiled, patted his arm and left, and after checking on Jefferson, he went back downstairs. As the hours ticked by, he wondered whether he'd made the right decision in accepting Elizabeth's help—it was a lot to ask, and she had her own things to take care of. Several times, he almost picked up the phone to tell her not to worry about it, but when she walked in the front door at four o'clock with several tote bags on her arm, he felt nothing but relief.

"Do you need help?" he asked, stepping forward to take some of the bags from her.

"I've got it," she said as a timer sounded in the kitchen. She nodded toward the back. "Don't burn your bread."

He chuckled and nodded, moving to the kitchen as she headed up the stairs. Once the last of the bread was out front, he went up the stairs. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"Just fine," she assured him. She waved him toward the stairs imperiously. "Go see to the pre-dinner rush. I can manage."

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied, heading back down as he heard the front bell ring. It should have felt weird, leaving her up in his apartment without him, but it felt…normal, somehow.

By the time the last customer left for the evening, the smell of something delicious was wafting down the stairs. Grant locked up and ascended the stairs and found Elizabeth setting the table and Jefferson sitting in one of the chairs, watching her. He still looked terrible, but he looked a little calmer than Grant had seen him in a day or two. And the fact that he was at the table and apparently waiting on dinner was a good sign—Grant had been having the worst time trying to motivate him to eat.

"Perfect timing," Elizabeth said, setting a dish on the table.

"Did you…" Grant looked around, realizing belatedly that he hadn't had the time to clean up the kitchen for a few days and it hadn't been exactly suitable for company. "Did you wash all my dishes?"

"It was easier to find my way around once everything was clean," Elizabeth said matter-of-factly. "Don't tell me I didn't have to do it," she added with a knowing smirk.

Grant closed his mouth. That was exactly what he'd been about to say. "Thank you," he said instead. He sat down. "This smells great."

Jefferson snorted. "Like you're surprised. You're a great baker, but she's always cooked other stuff better than you."

"Well, I hope this lives up to your expectations," Elizabeth said cheerily, taking a seat. "Dig in."

The food was delicious, and though Jefferson didn't eat as much as he normally would have, he ate more than Grant had expected him to. Conversation around the table stayed mostly light and inconsequential, but it felt peaceful. Grant was enjoying it, and something about it seemed to settle Jefferson some, even though he just listened and didn't talk.

After dinner, Grant and Elizabeth cleaned up together. Jefferson stayed in his chair and watched them with something that was almost a smile as they did. "If I knew it would get you two together like this, I would've had a breakdown years ago," Jefferson told Grant when Elizabeth left the room.

Grant wasn't sure what to do with that—Jefferson was making a joke, which was good, but there was a lot of mess underneath that joke to unpack. Elizabeth came back in then, and Jefferson didn't seem inclined to say anything more about the two of them. He seemed a little bit more like himself the rest of the evening, though.

A little later after Jefferson collapsed into bed, Elizabeth pointed out the air mattress she'd brought along. "It's big enough that you can sleep on it without curling up into a ball like you must have been doing on the sofa, and if we blow it up and put the sheets on it in here, we can drag it back to your bedroom without waking him and you can sleep in there. I suspect being close enough to be able to hear if he needs anything will help you sleep better," she said.

Grant smiled. "Thank you. I think that will help. This is…" He waved a hand around. "This really helped."

"I'm glad," she said, and she looked like she meant it.

"Will you think I'm a terrible host if I go to bed after we blow the mattress up?" he asked. "I'm exhausted."

She smiled back. "No. I imagine this week has been tiring. Get your rest." The way she was smiling at him, Grant suddenly felt the urge to brush her hair back and kiss her cheek, so he cleared his throat and stepped back and started unfolding the mattress instead.

Jefferson did wake up a few times in the middle of the night with nightmares, like he had been doing, but being closer let Grant calm him down before they had time to build. Grant slept better, having that worry taken care of, and the air mattress was a lot more comfortable than his couch.

He woke up early the next morning to go down and start the ovens, and he was surprised as he stepped into the living room to see Elizabeth asleep on the couch. She was sleeping on a pillow that Grant did not own, curled up under a blanket that he recognized from the back of one of her armchairs, and the arm tucked up under her chin was wrapped in the sleeve of silky blue pajamas. He thought she'd gone home after he went to sleep, but evidently she'd come prepared to stay. Instead of feeling embarrassed that she'd thought he needed that much help, he felt a wave of fondness washing over him. He tiptoed downstairs and started ovens heating and dough rising, and when he came back up, she was in her bathrobe in his kitchen making breakfast.

"Hi," he said.

"Oh," she said, turning and seeing him in the door. "Good morning. I didn't hear you come up. Breakfast?"

"Thanks," he said. He accepted the plate of bacon and eggs she handed him and sat down. "I, uh, I didn't realize you stayed last night," he said.

"I did say I was going to help," she said, joining him at the table. "This seemed like the sort of thing that might take a little while to find some equilibrium." A crease appeared in her forehead. "Did I overstep?"

"No, no, it's fine," he hurried to assure her. "I just wasn't expecting it." He smiled sheepishly. "I would have cleaned the bathroom otherwise."

She laughed. "I shan't judge you for it."

He chuckled and thought maybe he could straighten up some when he went in to take his shower, but when he got there, he found the floor clear of laundry, the bottom of the sink free of bits of hair, and the scent of raspberries and lavender hanging in the air. The last one puzzled him until he spotted a set of feminine-looking bottles of shampoo, conditioner and shower gel sitting in one corner of the shower.

"Are you just going to stealth-clean my entire house while I'm downstairs?" he asked when he came out of the shower.

Elizabeth smirked, looking pleased with herself.

"I appreciate you helping," he said. "Really, I do. I just…It's kind of embarrassing," he admitted. "I'm normally not this messy." He hated for her to think he normally left food crusting on his dishes and laundry strewn across the bathroom floor.

"Oh, I know," she said. She smiled when he quirked a curious eyebrow. "The state the bakery is always in suggests to me that your house follows suit. But as I said before, I wasn't judging you. Your schedule's been upended and you've had to allocate cleaning time to other matters."

Grant smiled, still a little embarrassed on principle, but grateful for the understanding. "Well, thank you."

"If it makes you feel better," she went on. "I wasn't intending to spend the rest of the day cleaning."

"It does a little," he said. "Are you heading off to work?"

"Yes and no," she said. She nodded to the end of the couch where a messenger bag was propped against the end. "I've brought my laptop, and I'm working remote today. I don't know how much use I'd be in the bakery, but I thought I could stay up here and keep Jefferson company so you could mind the store without worrying."

Relief washed through Grant's chest. "That would be great," he said. Jefferson was, well, he could be a handful at the best of times, but his current state was something else again. He trusted Elizabeth to be able to handle it, though—in a way that would work both for her and for Jefferson. "You're sure you won't be in trouble for not being at work?"

"I'm sure," she said. She smiled and waved at the stairs. "Go on. You stay up here chatting and nothing will be ready when the morning rush starts."

Grant came up to check on the two of them throughout the day as he had free time, but it was a relief not to have to worry about what might happen to Jefferson while he was down here. Jefferson slept most of the day, but Elizabeth got him to eat, and he even talked with her a little bit.

"Of course, I didn't quite follow it all," Elizabeth admitted to Grant later. "It's rather complicated, this forest of his. But I think he seemed relieved to be able to tell it to someone else—he knows _you're_ going to listen, of course, but other people…"

"He's not as worried about people thinking he's crazy as he used to be," Grant said. That wasn't actually a good thing—it felt more like he was giving up.

Elizabeth nodded. "He actually said that earlier, yes." She smiled sadly. "But after talking with him, I still don't think he's mad—just very hurt. I shudder to think the sorts of places my mind would go if I suffered a loss like that."

Grant smiled at her warmly. "Thank you," he said. "That's what I think about it all too, but I…I worry that with the kinds of stuff he says, no one will want to listen well enough to see that. I just…" He sighed. "I want him to be okay. It hurts to see him so hurt." He looked back up at her and smiled. "Thank you for today. For all your help, really, it was…Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said. "And I hope you're not building up to seeing me off. I thought I might stay a few days and help you boys regain your balance. If that's alright," she added hurriedly.

He smiled at the thought of her sticking around a while longer. "That would be—I mean, if you're sure—that would be great," he told her.

Elizabeth ended up staying for the rest of the week. They fell into a sort of pattern very quickly, with her working online from his kitchen and him downstairs. Jefferson was spending more time awake, and Grant would sometimes pause in the stairway on his way up and listen to them—her voice never held any condescension or pity, and Jefferson was actually engaging in conversation. There was even a friendly, comfortable sort of banter that went on between them, as if they'd known each other for a long time. Jefferson confided to Grant one night that this was the most normal he'd felt in twenty-eight years. Grant was glad about the first part, but before he could think of anything to say about the second part, Jefferson sighed and apologized for the fact that he was still so out of it a lot of the time—he was trying to enjoy what was happening here as best as he could, but he knew it was going to end, and that knowledge kept dragging him back down.

"Jeff," Grant began, sitting down beside him. "Is it okay if I ask what all this made you feel better?" Elizabeth was going to leave eventually, and maybe if Grant knew what it was that was working so well, he could keep it up.

Jefferson sighed. "I know you're going to argue, but you and her together…" A little smile turned up one side of his mouth. "It's like when I would come to visit you back home. Watching you together, it's so familiar. It's nice." He smiled a little wider. "Even here, you fit together really well. You know she knows where everything is in your kitchen? Just knew it when she walked in."

"Well, I mean, kitchens aren't that hard to figure out," Grant pointed out.

"She knew you keep the garlic and the salt down at the end of the counter instead of by the other spices."

"The steam and stuff from the stove makes them clump up faster," Grant protested. "Everybody knows that."

"No," Jefferson argued. "It's super-weird that you have a spice rack right next to your stove, but you keep those two things farther away. Literally no one else does that. Except maybe her. Because that seemed logical to her too."

Grant opened his mouth to protest, but Jefferson held up a hand to stop him.

"Look," he said. "I'm not going to harp on about how you belong together. You just asked me a question, and I'm giving you the honest answer. This is a glimpse of home that I haven't seen in a long time, and it makes me happy. It may not be enough to get me through another twenty-eight years, but it'll hold me out for a little while. Maybe long enough for Emma to fix things." He smiled. "I know you don't understand, just…I'm still exhausted and disappointed and maybe a little crazy, but this is a good thing. Please just let me enjoy it."

Grant smiled and nodded. "Okay. You're right, I don't understand, but that's never going to stop me from trying to help. And I'm glad this is helping."

"You're a good friend, Stevie," Jefferson told him, squeezing his arm. "A good friend."

Elizabeth was cleaning up the remains of dinner when Grant came back into the kitchen. The radio was on, and she was moving to the music, swaying gently and humming to herself. As she moved into a spin, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to step forward and catch her hand and finish the spin with her, and Grant did before he realized that was what he was doing.

"I'm sorry," he said, realizing he was holding onto her hand and resting one hand on her waist. "That—I don't—"

He started to pull away, fire burning in his cheeks, but she held onto his hand. "It's alright," she said. She was staring at him in a way that made a knot catch in his throat. "You did say you didn't know how to dance." She blinked up at him, hazel eyes glowing amber in the light. "Would you like me to show you how?"

"Okay," he whispered.

She took his other hand and put it back on her waist and started to move, directing his steps as they went. Grant found himself following along like he'd done it all before and she was just reminding him how, and soon they were gliding in wider circles across the floor. The way they fit together made him feel like he was a puzzle that had been missing a piece all his life and it had finally slotted into place.

"I could dance with you for the rest of my life," he said softly, and the way she smiled up at him told him she felt the same way. Then the song ended and they realized how close together they were standing and they each took several steps back.

"I'm sorry," Grant said, realizing what he'd just said.

"Don't be," she said, though her cheeks were flushing scarlet. "I did ask you to dance, I—That was overly familiar of me. I'm sorry." They both stared uncomfortably at each other for a minute. "Right," she said. "Um, good night." She stepped around him and into the living room, and Grant quickly retreated to his own room and the mattress on the floor.

He spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, alternatively reliving their brief dance in the kitchen and wondering what in the hell he'd just done. That moment had been…It was the best thing he could ever remember feeling, but she was engaged to and in love with someone else. What had he been thinking? She was in a relationship and she was happy, and stepping into the middle of it like that and complicating things was terrible of him. But, well…she _had_ asked him to dance. Though she wouldn't have if he hadn't stepped in and caught her hand. But she seemed to have felt the same way in the moment that he had. But maybe she'd just gotten caught up in the moment. He sighed. He'd made a royal mess of things, and what was going to happen with their friendship now? He'd always valued her as a friend, whether or not romance was on the table, but why would she want to be friends with someone who'd just done what he had?

It was a very long night.

He half expected her to be gone when he got up in the morning, and it was a great relief to see her on the couch. She was sitting up and the light was on, and he got the feeling maybe she hadn't slept much either. The smile she gave him was uncertain, but it was a smile, so hopefully that was good.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked.

He nodded and sat down across from her. Neither spoke for a moment.

"I'm sorry about last night," he said. "I…I don't know what possessed me to step in and start dancing with you like that, but it was out of line, and I'm sorry. I know you're with Fred and you're happy, and I wasn't trying to…" He sighed. "Maybe if I'd met you before you met him, we could've…" He supposed there wasn't any harm now in telling her how he felt. He'd made it pretty clear last night. "But I didn't, so, I shouldn't've done what I did last night, and if you need to step away from being friends with me now, I'd understand."

She looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. "You're right that I am with Fred," she said, and he nodded, preparing himself. "But," she continued carefully. "I don't know that you're right in saying that I'm happy."

He looked up at her in surprise.

"Fred is lovely," she explained. "And he's…comfortable?" she said, as if not quite sure of the word she wanted. "But we've been engaged for a long time because I keep not deciding on a date for the wedding. I could marry him tomorrow and have a perfectly satisfactory life, but a happy one?" she sighed. "I don't know." She looked at Grant for a minute in a way that felt like she was staring into his soul. "Fred is comfortable in a complacent sort of way, but you…You're comfortable in a way that makes me feel as though I'm at home."

"Really?" he asked quietly. That was how he felt about her.

She nodded. "After last night, I was feeling as though _I_ was the one who'd gone too far. I am engaged, as you said, and you've been nothing but a gentleman about it. But then I go and…" She sighed again. "I've complicated things."

Grant smiled at her in understanding. "I think we've both complicated them."

She smiled at that. "Perhaps we have." She drew in a thoughtful breath. "I think I need to go home. I wanted to wait and talk to you because I didn't want you to think I was running away, but I think I need to go and think things over."

He nodded. "That's fair."

She reached over and took his hand. "But please don't think…You're important to me, and however this turns out, I'd like to keep you in my life, if that's not too selfish a thing to ask."

He smiled.

"I need a bit of time to think, but I don't want you to feel as though I'm pulling away and cutting you out."

"Okay," he said. "Thanks for…well, for clarifying that. I should probably think about things too." He squeezed the hand she was holding. "I'll be here whenever you're ready. As your friend or whatever else you need."

She smiled and thanked him, and he helped her pack up the stuff she'd brought, though she told him to keep the air mattress for a while. She left, he started the ovens and dough and took a shower and had breakfast, deep in thought the whole time. Was she actually considering leaving Fred? That was, that was what she'd been implying, right? How awful of him was it to be excited by the possibility? If that was really what she meant, could they really keep being friends if she thought it over and picked Fred after all? He liked to think so, but would that hurt too much? What about her? If she picked Fred, would she feel too uncomfortable spending time with Grant? Or what if…What if he'd misunderstood her? What if she was just reevaluating her friendship with Grant, and things with Fred were just fine? He sighed and kept thinking and burned several loaves of bread for the first time in years.

When he went upstairs and had lunch with Jefferson, his friend looked like someone had kicked his puppy when Grant told him Elizabeth had left, but he started smiling when Grant explained what had happened.

"Stevie, this is great!" he said. "The spell is weakening, I told you it was!"

"Jeff, it's not great," Grant said, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. He wanted to be patient with Jefferson's delusions, but this was a very real-world problem.

"Okay, fine, forget the spell," Jefferson said, though it felt like he was just humoring him. "Look at it this way. She's thinking about dumping Fred for you. That can't be anything but good."

"You really think that's what she meant?" In the moment, it had seemed pretty obvious that that was what she meant, but uncertainty was growing as the hours ticked by.

"With all this second-guessing you do, I'll never know how you managed to marry her in the first place, but yes," Jefferson sighed. "That conversation couldn't have meant anything else."

"What if…What if she decides to stay with him?" he wondered.

"She won't," Jefferson said, so certain that Grant couldn't help but believe him.

A couple of days went by where she didn't come into the bakery, and though Grant knew she was thinking things over, just not seeing her hurt more than he thought it would. Seeing her and talking to her, even if it was only for a little while, was part of his daily routine. He found himself thinking back over the days she spent at his house more and more often—the dance, certainly, but just her being there…like she'd said, it had felt like being at home, and he missed it. He missed her.

Things had started getting very strange in town—Emma and Mayor Mills were clearly in the middle of a battle, though no one seemed to know over what. Tensions were high, then they got the news that Henry had suddenly gotten sick. He'd abruptly fallen into a coma and people seemed to think he was dying, and Grant couldn't help feeling horrified that that friendly, peculiar little boy that he'd seen only three days ago might be dying.

The next day, Grant woke up feeling jittery and nervous. Everyone who came into the shop that morning seemed on edge too, though no nobody seemed to know why. It was like they were all waiting for something.

Grant needed to get out and move around, and he needed to pick up some groceries too, so he hung the 'Be Back Later' sign on his door and took a long lunch. Jefferson was having a good enough day that Grant didn't feel worried about leaving him, but Jefferson didn't want to go outside. He hadn't since he'd come to stay, and while Grant thought some sunshine might be good for him, Jefferson seemed to feel safer inside, so Grant didn't push it for now.

That strange, jittery feeling kept growing as he walked into town. The air felt like a storm was brewing, though there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and it didn't feel like any storm Grant had ever felt. No, no, that wasn't quite true. There was something about it…something in the air that he felt in his bones that terrified him.

He stopped at the pier and looked out over the harbor, smooth as glass, like it was unaware of whatever was happening in the air. Everyone he passed seemed jumpy, looking up at the sky like they were waiting for something to drop down out of it. Grant understood the feeling.

A screech suddenly tore through the air above him, like the roar of a thousand fighter jets. The screech was accompanied by a streak of purple lightning that seemed to tear the sky in half. Dark, billowing clouds appeared out of nowhere, and Grant stared up in horror at a scene he'd only seen in his dreams before—it was the purple smoke. It was…It was _real_.

Smoke poured down from the clouds, dark and dangerously purple. Just like in his dreams, Grant wanted to run, and just like in his dreams, he knew there was nowhere to go. He clenched the railing of the pier and held on for dear life as the smoke hit him with a howl of wind.

The wind and the smoke screamed around him, and just like in his dreams, he felt like he was being struck by lightning. Something was different this time, though. When he dreamed about the smoke, he always felt like he was being torn in half, losing what felt like part of his soul as he tumbled into oblivion. This time, though, instead of being torn in two, Grant felt like he was half of something being slammed back into place with its other half with the force of a wave smashing against the rocks.

The smoke vanished and he was on his hands and knees, shaking and gasping for breath. He tried to stand, but wasn't sure which way was up, words and images and people and _everything_ exploding through his brain at a pace he couldn't keep up with, so he just curled down until his forehead was resting on the concrete and waited it out.

When he could see again, he pushed up enough to sit back against one of the rails behind him and catch his breath. Two different lives were fighting for dominance in his head, and, slowly but steadily, Grant from Storybrooke was fading away. Grant wasn't real—he'd never been real, just a nightmare that he'd been trapped in for…God help him, for _twenty-eight_ years. He shoved himself to his feet as Steve settled back into place. Steve. That was his name. He was Steve, and Bucky had been right about everything, and Peggy…

He staggered back and clutched at the rail behind him. Peggy! She was—did she know?! Had she woken up like he had?! His legs started moving before he told them to, propelling him forward to find her. He stumbled to a halt as he got back to the street. Where should he look? Was she at home or at work? He'd comb every inch of town if he had to, but he couldn't stand the thought of taking a second longer to find her than necessary. He started running again.

All around him, people were picking themselves up and running, looking just as shell-shocked as he felt. He stopped next to a woman he recognized as the blacksmith's wife from the next street over from his old bakery. She'd fallen and cut herself when the smoke hit, but her thanks were distracted as he helped her to her feet—she was looking for someone too.

He ran on, and there she was, hurrying across the street that would have taken her from her office to the bakery. "Peggy!" he called, much louder than he would have thought he'd have the confidence for. Would she remember her name? Would she remember him?

She froze with her back to him, still as a statue, then slowly spun around to face him. Steve's spirit soared at the recognition in her eyes while his body simultaneously forgot how to move. For what seemed like an eternity, they stared at each other, wide-eyed and unmoving, then a laugh bubbled up out of Peggy's throat and she started running. Steve was running too, not able to get to her fast enough, and he staggered back with the force of her flinging herself into his arms. His arms caught her and wrapped around her, clinging to her like she was a rock and he was being swept out to sea.

"Steve," she whispered, holding him close and burying her face in his chest. "It's you!" She looked up, her eyes shot through with fear. "It is you, isn't it? Please tell me it's you!"

"It's me, Peggy," he breathed, not sure how much tighter he could hug her without breaking any of her ribs. "I'm me again. And you're—you're really…"

"I'm really me too," she breathed. "We're back."

"I missed you so much," Steve said, choking on a sob as the realization of how long he'd lost her for hit home.

Tears were pooling up and spilling out of Peggy's eyes, and she didn't seem to be able to speak, but she put her hands to the sides of his face and kissed him, and he held her tight and picked her up and kissed her back.

"I love you, darling," Peggy whispered when they broke apart. She clung tight to Steve's shirt as he set her down, like she was worried about getting too far away from him, though Steve had no intention of letting her go. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"I love you too," he replied, the words so inadequate for what he was feeling. He brushed a thumb across her cheek, wiping away a tear. His own eyes weren't exactly dry either.

"Is this real?" she asked. "Do we get to keep this? Or is it—"

"It has to be," Steve said, not wanting to entertain the possibility of it being some sort of trick. "The curse breaking felt just as powerful as when it hit. I think it…I think it really broke." Still, he didn't feel inclined to let go of her just yet.

For several long minutes, they simply stood there, holding on to each other. Steve rested his head on top of Peggy's and closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of her shampoo that resembled nothing from back home in the village but still smelled completely and totally like _her_. "I'm sorry I let go of you," he whispered into her hair, feeling moisture prickle behind his closed eyes. "If I had just held on tighter in that first storm…" They still would have been cursed, but they would have at least been together.

A watery laugh escaped Peggy's throat, and she tilted her head up to look at him. "I was about to say the same," she told him. She nodded out at the street, taking in the town and the people around them. "I don't think we would have been able to," she went on. "Everyone else seems to have been…" She let go of him with one hand to wave out at everything, not sure of the word she wanted, but Steve understood. She turned back to look at him. "I'm still sorry."

"Me too," he said. He kissed her forehead. "But I love you. And now that I have you back, I'm never letting you go again."

She smiled. "You can't let go of me if I don't let go of you," she replied. "And I don't intend to."

"Uncle Steve! Aunt Peggy! Is that you?" a child's voice cried, and they turned to see Grace (not Paige, not anymore) running across the street. The knees of her school uniform were dirty and her pigtails were coming undone, as though the wind that had accompanied the breaking curse had thrown her around a little. She stopped just shy of flinging her arms around both of them, looking up at them questioningly.

"It's us," Peggy said as she and Steve both reached out and scooped the little girl up in a hug.

"Are you alright?" Steve asked her, running a hand over her hair.

"I'm fine," she said, squeezing him tightly with one arm and Peggy so tightly with the other she almost clunked their heads together. "I lost you in the storm," she said. "And when I woke up I…I don't know. It's like I forgot everything."

"So did we, sweetheart," Peggy told her.

"Everyone did," Steve said. "But you remember now?"

"I think so," she nodded. "That was really bad magic, wasn't it?"

"It was," Steve agreed.

"And it was the Evil Queen?" she clarified.

"It was," Peggy said. "But something broke the spell." She kissed Grace's cheek. "We're all back now."

"I'm glad," Grace said, hugging them both again. "That was…That was really weird. Do I have to go home to Carl and Linda's house? The spell made me think they were my parents, but they're not. Can I keep staying with you?"

Lightning flashed across Steve's brain, and it was a good thing Peggy was holding on to Grace too, or Steve might have dropped her. "Oh, my gosh, Bucky!" he exclaimed. He looked up at Peggy and then back at Grace. "Grace," he said, grinning widely. "You don't have to stay with Carl and Linda, but you don't have to stay with us either—your dad's here! You can go home with him!"

Grace stared at him with wide eyes. "My papa's here?" she whispered. "You found him?"

"We found him," Steve said, even though in this world he'd never really been lost.

"Where is he? Where is he; I want to see him!" she exclaimed.

"He's at my house," Steve said. "Come on, let's go!"

Peggy set her down and they each took one of her hands and hurried toward the bakery. It was only as he was unlocking the door that he remembered how rough Bucky had been looking. After twenty-eight years, though, he doubted Grace would care.

"Bucky!" he called, hurrying up the stairs, Grace and Peggy behind him. "Bucky, are you here?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Bucky said. He was lying across the couch staring at the ceiling, but he narrowed his eyes suspiciously and sat up, then stood up and took a step closer to Steve. "You just called me Bucky. What—"

His voice cut off abruptly as Grace made it to the top of the stairs and burst into the apartment. Several emotions warred for control of Bucky's face, and then, to Steve's surprise, he turned to look at Steve with a glare.

"What the hell are you doing to me?" he hissed. "This is—" He gestured at Grace. "I can't—I can't…Why are you—"

Steve realized with a start that since Bucky had never been under the curse, he wouldn't have realized it was broken. He thought it was still Grant and Elizabeth and Paige standing in front of him.

"Papa?" Grace asked hesitantly, startled by his anger.

Bucky's words died in his throat again, and he pivoted slowly on his heel back to look at her. Water pooled in his eyes as Steve saw him mouth the word 'Papa'. "You…" Bucky began. He choked on his words, tried again. "You called me Papa," he said like he couldn't believe it. He stepped forward, started to reach out a hand, pulled back. "You…You remember me?"

Grace nodded, still looking uncertain. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Am I happy to see you?" Bucky repeated, shaking his head in wonder. He stepped forward again, reached out a hand, hesitated one more time, then touched her cheek. Then he knelt down in front of her, running his hands over her arms and looking into her eyes. "You're real," he said, half to himself like he still couldn't believe it. "And you really remember me?"

Grace nodded.

The smile that lit up Bucky's face was one that Steve hadn't seen in twenty-eight years, and even as tears poured from his eyes, it showed no signs of dimming. "Of course, I'm happy to see you," Bucky rasped. "You're back. You're back, I—" He swallowed hard and cupped her face in his hands. "I've never been this happy in my whole life."

Grace smiled and flung her arms around him. "I missed you, Papa," she said, the last words leaving her in a rush of air as Bucky hugged her tightly.

"I missed you too, baby," he said, his voice wavering. "I missed you so much."

"I knew you would come back to me," she whispered, and he closed his eyes and cradled one hand protectively over her head.

Peggy's fingers slipped through Steve's, warm and reassuring, and she squeezed his hand tightly, resting her head on his shoulder as she watched the reunion. "I don't think I've ever been this happy in my whole life either," she said after a minute, tilting her head up to look at Steve. She kissed him warmly, then traced a finger down his jaw. "I can't believe I've been staring at this face for twenty-eight years without knowing it was you."

Steve felt the same way, and he didn't know what to say, so he just kissed her again and hugged her against his chest.

They held onto one another contentedly until Bucky and Grace finally broke their embrace, then there was a group hug as they all celebrated being back together. Having found her father at last, Grace expressed her worry at how sick he was looking, and so he explained, in halting steps, what had happened to him. Steve could tell he was worried about disappointing his daughter, but it warmed his heart to see her simply snuggle in closer to his lap and listen with sympathetic eyes, hugging him tighter instead of pulling back.

After that, Steve and Peggy joined the conversation, and between all of them they tried to piece together what had happened. They filled Bucky in on the months in the village that he'd been gone, and he in turn told them about being trapped in Wonderland, unable to get back without his hat. The Queen's curse had pulled him to Storybrooke with everyone else, but whether it didn't affect him to the point of forgetting because he'd been further away or because of some design of Regina's, he wasn't sure.

The curse had been broken somehow, and as Bucky explained what he'd been able to learn about it over the years, there was no doubt that Sheriff Swan had had something to do with it. What exactly she'd done, they didn't know, but as no further crises seemed to be forthcoming this evening, they weren't too inclined to venture out and explore. Tonight they just…wanted to hold on to each other.

Dinner happened at some point during all the talking, although since Peggy and Steve didn't want to let go of each other and Bucky and Grace didn't want to let go of one another, it was a little tricky to get it all together, but they managed. Eventually, Grace and Bucky set off for Bucky's house. They needed their time together, but Steve would go over and check on them in the morning—everyone's memories returning and having Grace back would go a long way to healing Bucky, but his curse had been of the unmagical variety and it would still take him a while to get his feet back under him.

"I keep worrying I'm going to lose you again somehow," Peggy said when they were alone again, folding herself into his arms.

"I know what you mean," Steve said. "When you're just sitting over there like that, you could still be Elizabeth, but when I'm holding you…" He kissed her forehead. "When I'm holding you, I know you're Peggy."

"Exactly," Peggy agreed. "Although…Grant and Elizabeth came awfully close, didn't they?" she added.

Steve smiled. "Well, I know you didn't know, but Grant was pretty far gone on you for twenty-eight years. It wasn't just the other night."

Peggy chuckled. "Oh, I knew. Neither Grant nor Steve was ever very subtle." She tilted her head curiously. "Why did you never say anything?"

Steve felt his cheeks flushing even as he smiled. "You were engaged," he pointed out. "It would have been inappropriate. I mean, I know in hindsight, that's ridiculous, but…"

She smiled. "No, I know. That's why I never said anything either." Her smile faded and her eyebrows furrowed. "Are you alright with that?"

"I'm not holding the curse against you," he replied.

"No," she said. "I know that. I just…" she sighed. "I was engaged to another man for longer than I've even known you. It was an engagement of convenience, and it was rather dull, and we never…I mean, we never…" She made an awkward gesture in the air, her cheeks flushing, and Steve suddenly realized what she was trying to say they'd never done.

He caught her gesturing hand and kissed her fingers. "I am very glad to hear that," he admitted. "But I hope you know that if you had, I would have gotten past it. It was the curse and you thought you loved him."

She smiled and rested her head on his chest. "Thank you," she said softly. "But what I'm trying to ask is, do we need to talk about it, or, or do you need some time or something, or—"

She stopped talking as Steve kissed her deeply. "I've had enough time," he said when they came up for air. "Way too much of it without you." He kissed her again. "I love you, Peggy."

"Oh, darling, I love you too," she said, pulling him down into a kiss that made him go shaky in the knees. "And you know," she said, stroking his cheek as he caught his breath. "When I was cursed, I never thought I loved Fred. I always thought I _should_ love Fred, which was awfully hard to do with you around. Elizabeth spent the last twenty-eight years considering calling off her engagement at least once a month."

"Really?" He thought he might be grinning wider than was suited to the moment.

"I can only blame the spell," she said. "I'm not usually that indecisive. I'd've been married to Grant by 1984, otherwise." She arched a mock-disapproving eyebrow. "You're grinning like an idiot."

"Can you blame me?"

"Shut up and kiss me," she told him, and he happily obliged.

"You know," he told her softly. "I remember how to dance now."

"Do you?" she said warmly.

He nodded. "I don't think we got to finish the other night."

Peggy pulled back, tugging on his hands and guiding him into the kitchen toward the radio. "Well then," she said, flicking the switch and pulling him close. "Although, I'll have you know that even if you don't remember how, I don't intend to dance with anyone else ever again."

"The rest of our lives, you and me," Steve whispered, kissing her cheek before they started to move with the music. "The rest of our lives."

* * *

_That's it for Once Upon A Time!_

_Up next, we're going Medieval._

_(You might have noticed that this story is marked as 'Complete' now. That's mostly because I don't like seeing the little unfinished mark on my stories, and since these chapters aren't connected anyway, I decided to go ahead and mark it as finished. But don't worry! I'll still be writing and posting new chapters. Lots of ideas yet to do something with.)_


	6. Forbidden Magic (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so, that took forever. Sorry for this wait, guys. This one spiraled into something totally different than what I'd originally intended, and it almost got me. But I prevailed! Many thanks to usa123 for fabulous beta-ing, and a big shout-out to formerlyIR and linascribbles for encouraging me every time I got stuck.
> 
> So, yet again, we're in another fandom's playground. This one is very loosely based on the BBC show Merlin. Basically, we're in Camelot in the Middle Ages, and magic is outlawed. Peggy is the secret magician, Steve is the prince. The only actual Merlin character who made the transfer over is King Uther Pendragon (as played by Anthony Head). Everyone else is from the MCU.

* * *

Peggy clutched her cloak a little more tightly around herself to keep it away from snagging branches as she moved deeper into the woods. She was keeping an eye out for a small cabin—she used to know the place well, but the brush had grown up over time, obscuring the pathway. This was where she had learned medicine and magic, training under Abraham Erskine, one of the greatest magicians of the age. Of course, her training had been done in secret after the Great Purge, when magicians had been wiped from the land at the king's decree. It was how Peggy had lost her own parents—long enough ago now that she could barely remember them. How Erskine had kept his identity a secret through it all—especially living under the king's nose in the palace!—she had no idea.

Peggy had been living in one of the smaller villages outside the capital of Camelot for several years now, making a name for herself as a skilled healer. If anyone suspected there was magic involved from time to time, they said nothing. She'd been surprised to hear from her old teacher, as well as curious. His message had been rather cryptic, saying nothing of why he wanted to meet her here, only that it was important. She was uncomfortable with the idea of being within sight of the palace, but she trusted him.

She soon broke through the bushes and into a familiar clearing. The cabin was still there, though there were holes in the roof now and vines growing up out of the well. Still, it felt like coming home, in a way, and Peggy smiled briefly at the memory of herself and Erskine's other students running around and playing in the yard.

Erskine opened the door of the cabin as she approached, and he nodded in greeting. "Good to see you," he said, smiling warmly. "Did you have any trouble getting here?"

"None at all," she said, smiling and shaking his hand, noticing as she did so the slight tremors running through his fingers. "It was you who taught me how to skirt palace patrols undetected, remember?"

That earned her an amused snort, and he pulled back to usher her inside.

"I imagine you're wondering why I had you come all the way out here?" he said. "I've got someone who'd like to meet you. A business proposition I think you'd find interesting."

Her interest piqued, Peggy followed him inside. Being well-known as a local healer was all well and good, but an extra source of income was always welcome. Peggy stepped in, then gasped as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light and the figure waiting in the corner coalesced into a recognizable shape.

"Are you mad?" she hissed, grabbing Erskine's arm. "That's the prince!" What the hell was he thinking?! Prince James Pendragon was the last person she had expected to see here or wanted to. "You're going to get us killed!"

"Um," the prince said, taking a step forward and raising a hand. "The cabin's not very big, and I can hear you."

Oh.

"I am the prince," he confirmed. "But I promise, I'm not here to hurt anybody."

Peggy squared her shoulders back, trying to regain a bit of her composure. "You'll forgive me if I find that hard to believe, Your Highness," she said as coolly as she could muster. She shot a quick sideways look at Erskine. Had he set her up? She would never have thought it, but maybe after years of living in the palace, he'd changed sides?

"I suppose that's fair," the prince allowed. He moved for his belt, and Peggy stiffened as he pulled out his sword. He laid it on the table in the middle of the room, then stepped back, hands raised. "There," he said. "How's that?"

"It's a start, I suppose," she said, casting a quick glance to the door, trying to see if she could catch the sound of soldiers. She looked back at the prince. "What's all this about?"

"I need help," the prince said. He gestured to Erskine. "Healer Erskine recommended you."

"I see," she said. "And what sort of help could I possibly give you?"

"The kind that I can't exactly extend a formal invitation to the palace to ask you about," he replied with a charmingly disarming smirk. "I need magic."

"Magic?" she replied, calmly as possible. "What makes you think I know about that?" Was this some sort of elaborate ruse to get her to incriminate herself?

"Erskine says you do," the prince replied matter-of-factly. "He says you're the best, and that's what I need."

Peggy shot a quick glare at Erskine, but he just smiled back. "Magic is outlawed, Your Majesty," she reminded him.

"It is," he agreed.

"Punishable by death," she added.

He nodded. "I know. Why do you think we're meeting out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"It was outlawed by your father, Sire," she went on.

"I know," he said again. "But seeing as I wasn't even two years old when he made the decree, I didn't have a lot of input."

She almost smiled at that, but she caught herself. He was dangerously charming. "So, you're asking me to believe that Prince James Pendragon, son of Uther, leader of the Royal Army and heir to the throne, would be for allowing magic in Camelot?"

"I'm a smart enough man to know there are three sides to this story," he told her, serious now instead of smiling. "My father's, yours, and the truth. I've always been open to knowing the truth. And if the truth is that magic can give me what I want, then, yes; bring it all back."

Peggy was surprised, but smirked internally at the statement. The acceptance of magic was unexpected, but the demand for what he wanted sounded more like what Peggy knew of royalty and made her feel on a bit more level ground. She clicked her tongue in mock disapproval. "Sounds a bit mercenary to me, Sire."

He huffed an unamused laugh. "I think 'desperate' would be the more appropriate word."

"Desperate, is it?" she asked. 'Desperate' could mean anything, even something as trivial as winning a jousting tournament. "And what could make someone like you so desperate as to seek out a magician?"

"My brother," he said, with such conviction in his voice that it brought her up short.

"Your brother?" she repeated. The king _did_ have another son, though hardly anyone knew much about him. He was rumored to be an invalid, and was rarely seen outside the palace. Peggy couldn't even think of what his name was.

"Yes. He's sick," the prince said.

Well, that was certainly a sort of 'desperate' that painted him in a better light, but still… "He's the son of the king," Peggy pointed out. "Doesn't he already have the best healers money can buy?"

"He does," the prince replied. "Whatever they're doing isn't working anymore. He's dying. I can't—" His voice wavered and he broke off abruptly, looking away. "If magic can heal my brother," he said more steadily, looking back up at her. "Then you'll never hear me say a word against it."

Peggy considered. To say she hadn't been moved by the prince's obvious worry for his brother would be a lie. She didn't think he was here to trap her anymore, but agreeing to work with him was a hell of a leap of faith. She looked over at Erskine curiously.

"I trust him," Erskine said softly. A small smile crossed his face. "He knows about me, and I'm still alive."

Peggy looked at him in surprise. "Why don't you help the prince, then?" she wondered. She was a good magician, but Erskine was better, with years of experience beyond her own.

Erskine held up his hands. "I'm getting old," he said. She saw the tremble there in his fingers that she'd noticed before. "My hands aren't suited to that sort of fine work anymore."

Peggy nodded. She looked curiously over at the prince, who was waiting patiently. "And what about the king?" she asked. "Does he know about this?" Was he desperate enough to save his son that he would turn to the magic he so despised?

The prince shook his head. "No. He doesn't know I'm here. If you come back with me, I will present you as a skilled healer and nothing more. No mention of magic."

Peggy chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully. It was dangerous, certainly. But Erskine thought she could do it, and she did trust him. And if this worked…Well, Uther wouldn't live forever. A new king with a favorable outlook towards magic would be a good thing. And barring that, a commission from the palace ought to set her up well enough to move somewhere that she _could_ practice her magic without punishment.

"I promise I will keep you safe from my father," the prince said. "And as to payment…If you heal my brother, you can have all the gold you can carry."

Peggy smiled, both because she was certainly going to take him up on _that_ offer, and because he was clever enough to know how to barter with a magician and specified payment in money. Peggy had no ulterior motives, of course, but those that practiced darker arts often took advantage of phrases like, 'you can have anything you want', or, 'name your price'—very often to the detriment of their customers.

"Alright," she said. She held out a hand. "We have a deal."

A relieved smile lit up the prince's face, and he shook her offered hand. "Now that it's official," he said. "May I have your name? Erskine wouldn't give it to me in case you said no."

"Oh," Peggy said. "Yes. My name is Peggy."

"A pleasure to meet you, Peggy," he said. "We'll need to set off for the palace right away. Is there anything you need to take with you?"

"If you want me to do a proper healer's work, I'll need my things," she said.

He agreed to accompany her back to her home to get them, while Erskine was going to ride on ahead back to the palace. Thankfully, the prince's travelling cloak disguised his royal clothes—it would be rather alarming to her neighbours if she showed up at home with the prince of Camelot in tow. Somewhat to her surprise, he gave her a hand up to ride on his horse with him, instead of making her walk alongside.

"It would be very poor manners to make a lady walk while I rode," he told her when he saw her surprised raise of the eyebrow. She knew about the royal court and the rules of chivalry, of course, but she hadn't thought they applied across classes like that.

At her home, she gathered all her healer's gear and magic supplies into a small trunk, and the prince loaded it onto his horse while she packed some clothes and told her neighbour she was going away for a bit. They rode off again, keeping a brisk pace, and soon the gleaming white walls of the palace were in view.

Peggy felt a shiver of apprehension as they rode through the gate. She was welcome enough now, seated alongside the prince, but if they knew who she really was? She shuddered. She would just have to be careful. Erskine managed it, somehow, so she could too. Inside the courtyard, the prince helped her from the horse and called a footman to take her things to Erskine's quarters, where she could send for them later. He directed her to the main hall, giving her hand a quick squeeze as though he sensed her nervousness. "Don't worry," he whispered as a page announced them. "It's going to be fine."

They strode quickly down the length of the hall, having evidently interrupted some sort of business meeting—papers rustled and several weathered heads turned to watch from a table in the centre of the room.

"Ah, James!" the king said, rising to his feet. "There you are. Where have you been? I trust you have an explanation for missing inspection this morning?"

"Yes, father," the prince replied, stepping forward with a small bow. "I do apologize for my absence. I was attending to an urgent matter."

"And what matter would that be?"

James gestured for Peggy to step forward. "I had heard talk of a skilled healer who lived in a village on the other side of the Grey Mountains," he said, and Peggy appreciated that he had named somewhere nowhere near to her actual home. "I thought perhaps she would be able to help my brother."

"Your Majesty," Peggy said, stepping forward and dropping down into a curtsy. She wasn't quite sure of the etiquette, but she thought perhaps she should stay down until told to get up.

"I see," the king said in a mixture of exasperation and fondness. He studied Peggy for a moment, long enough for her to start to worry she might topple over with the way she was balanced and wondering if she could shift to lean on one knee under her skirts without being noticed, then he waved for her to stand. "Please stand, good lady. You are a healer?"

"Yes, Sire," she said.

"And one of good enough repute to attract the attention of my son?"

"I'm honored to hear so, Your Grace," she replied. "I did study hard for my skills."

This seemed to be a good answer. "You are an educated woman, then?"

"Yes, Sire."

He studied her a moment longer, then nodded. "Very well." He looked at the prince. "Show her to Prince Steven's chambers, find her a place to stay, and then go out and attend to the inspection you should have done this morning."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," the prince replied. He bowed again, Peggy curtsied, and they left.

Feeling better now that she'd passed the first test, Peggy found herself growing curious. Perhaps the king was simply better at hiding his emotions than his son, but she would have expected more of a reaction at the news that someone was here to help his son, nevermind the fact that in the face of that, his focus on the prince's shirked duties seemed a touch callous. That seemed rather a personal question to ask, though, so she didn't.

The prince led her up a few levels and down a long corridor. They stopped in front of a set of double doors, he took a moment to draw in a breath, then stepped inside. Shutting the doors behind them, he then hurried over to the bed by the far wall. Peggy followed at a slower pace, looking at the figure lying under the blankets in some surprise. He looked nothing like his brother. Where James was large and muscular, he was small and thin, fair-haired where his brother was dark.

She could hear his breath wheezing from here.

The prince sat down carefully on the mattress, resting a surprisingly gentle hand on his brother's hair. "Hey, Stevie," he said softly.

Prince Steven's eyes flickered open, and there was the resemblance to his brother, that same soulful blue. "Buck?" he rasped. He smiled as he came more awake. "You're back."

"Yeah, I'm back," James replied. "How are you feeling?"

A cough wracked Steven's small frame. "About the same."

If the look on James's face was anything to go by, that wasn't good. "Well, hopefully, that's about to change." He motioned Peggy closer. "I found someone who's going to help you."

Steven's blue eyes went wide. "You mean you…" Peggy caught him mouth the word 'magic' as James leaned in.

"Yeah," James replied. "Magic." His eyebrows furrowed in concern. "You said you were okay with that."

Steven coughed again. "I am. I just…" He looked over at Peggy in wonder. "I didn't think you'd find anyone."

This was all turning out to be rather unexpected, but Peggy smiled and stepped forward. "Good afternoon, Your Highness," she said, dropping into a quick curtsy.

"Hello," he said with a nod. "What's your name?"

"Peggy, Your Highness."

He nodded again. "I'm Steve."

"So, can you help him?" James asked eagerly.

"You'll have to give me a moment, Sire," she said with a small smile. "I can't diagnose by sight." She caught a smile from Steven at that. "I can tell you, though," she went on. "That he would breathe a lot easier if he were propped up at an angle." That wheezing of his was making her own chest hurt.

James quickly moved to help his brother sit up. "Better?" he asked, once he had him situated.

Steven nodded. "Yeah." He looked over at Peggy. "Thank you. My usual healer doesn't like me sitting up. He said it did something about draining the humours out of my brain and down into my stomach."

Peggy snorted. "That is a load of absolute rubbish."

Steven smiled, then looked up at his brother. "I like her. I told you all that humours stuff was no good."

"I know," James replied, with the air of someone launching into a familiar argument. "Why do you think I went to all this trouble to find you a new healer? Those other guys were stuck in the Thirteenth Century with their humours and balancing elements."

A servant came in with Peggy's medicine trunk, and James held up a hand for her not to say anything. "Don't talk about magic in front of the servants," he said after they were alone again. "Or really in front of anyone but me and Steve."

Peggy smiled. "I'm hardly an amateur, Sire. I _have_ lived to twenty-five without being caught, after all."

Steven smiled, then looked over at James. "Are you in trouble for missing whatever you were supposed to do this morning?"

"A little."

"Then go ahead and do it," he said, nodding towards the door. "We'll be alright here."

James nodded and stood. "I'll be back in a little while." He looked at Peggy. "If there are any supplies you need or anything, let the servants know. There should be someone waiting outside."

"I will, thank you," she said, and he smiled at his brother and left. "Right," Peggy said, turning to her patient. "I'm going to need a look at you. Can you manage to get your shirt off?"

He seemed a little surprised by the request, but acquiesced, though Peggy ended up having to help him with it. He had hardly any strength at all. She rather thought he might fall back over if the pillows weren't holding him up. "How long have you been ill?" she asked. He looked dreadful—far too pale even for someone not expected to work outdoors for a living, eyes watery with fever and ringed with dark circles.

He chuckled at that, though it turned into a cough. "My whole life, pretty much," he said. "Although, if you mean this particular bout, about four weeks."

Peggy nodded. His ribs and collarbones were much too visible, but she didn't see any discoloration, nor did she feel any knots or swollen spots under his skin, which was good. "Right," she said. She cast a look back at the door and lowered her voice a little. "I'm going to do a bit of magic here," she said. "It makes the diagnosis go much faster."

Steven nodded. "Okay. What do I do?"

"Just sit there," she said. "Try not to cough." He nodded, and she placed her hand on his chest. His skin was soft and warm to the touch, and she could feel the flutter of his heart beneath his ribs. She closed her eyes and called up a surge of magic, letting it flow out through her fingertips and into his veins and then back to her.

She stood up, and he was staring at her in awe. "Well," she said. "Your heart and your lungs are in dreadful shape, and you've had this fever for far too long."

He nodded, clearly used to receiving bad news.

"I don't think you're beyond saving, though," she said, and surprise flickered across his face. He'd evidently been hearing otherwise from his healers. "Let's see what we can do. First off, why don't you tell me what your other healers have been having you do."

"Absolutely nothing," he replied. "They don't let me get out of bed. I used to try when they weren't looking but…" He sighed. "To be honest, I haven't had the strength in a while. Even sitting up like this wearing me out."

Peggy frowned. "One of the reasons you're feeling so weak is probably because you haven't moved in a while. Light exercise is always helpful for keeping stamina up. We'll have to work up to that." She spotted the table beside his bed, littered with half-empty vials of medicine. "Let me set some things up, and then I'll have a look at that."

She helped him back into his shirt, then set to laying her things out on the table by the fireplace, where she ought to have the best light. She set up her stands and equipment, laid her medicines out in orderly rows, and set the magic ingredients out inside her trunk so she could see what they were but could also close the lid to hide them. When she turned around, she saw the prince had fallen asleep again.

She set a kettle of water on the fire to start heating, and picked up his medicines and set to testing them, trying to figure out what he had been taking, and what she should continue or change. After about half an hour of work, he coughed himself awake again. "Are you alright, Sire?" she asked, moving over beside the bed when the coughing didn't stop. He nodded to the pitcher sitting on the bedside table, and she poured him some water.

"Thank you," he rasped after he drank it.

Peggy's eyes widened as she took the glass from him—a faint red color tinted the remaining water. "You're coughing up blood," she said.

He didn't look surprised at that. "I know," he said. "Have been for a week."

"I hope you don't think me impertinent, Your Grace," she said, moving towards her medicine kit. "But your previous healers were absolute charlatans. I'm normally against capital punishment on principle, but whoever has been treating you thus far could certainly do with some flogging."

He let out a surprised chuckle at that. "What makes you say that?"

Peggy held up one of his vials of medicine. "I assume you've been taking this one for your heart?"

He nodded.

"Not only does it have no effect on your heart whatsoever, it's got nettle extract in it, which is very inflammatory when not distilled properly—which this isn't—and it's actually aggravating your throat and making the coughing worse. I would bet good money that it's irritated the inside of your throat all the way down, and that's where this blood is coming from."

The prince considered this. "I did start taking it about a week ago."

Peggy chucked the offending vial over her shoulder and into the fireplace. "That's just the start. Some of this rubbish is making your symptoms worse, some of it has given you new symptoms, and some of it is slowly killing you."

He took a moment to take that in. "Good thing we called you in, then," he said with a small smile. He coughed again, then nodded towards the vials she was disposing of. "Does any of it work?"

"Yes," she admitted. "But none of it at a strength that would actually save your life. It's just sort of prolonging your suffering at this point." He nodded with interest as she threw away the last of it.

Prince James returned then. "How's it going?" he asked.

"She's throwing out my old medicine," Steven replied cheerfully. "Apparently, it was killing me."

"What?!"

"Some of his old remedies _were_ making things worse," Peggy said. "I believe I can correct that," she added, seeing how thoroughly alarmed the declaration had made James. She looked curiously over at Steven. "You seem oddly chipper about this, Sire, all things considered."

Steven smiled. "I'm used to being sick. And, hey, you're going to fix me now, right? So it's fine."

James snorted. "When you say it was making him worse," he began, looking over at Peggy.

"I mean it would have killed him before too much longer," Peggy replied, seeing no need to sugar coat things.

"Do you think someone was trying to kill him?"

"I think it was just incompetence," Peggy said. "There are more efficient ways of poisoning someone if that was their goal."

James did not look comforted by this fact, and Peggy reached out to rest a comforting hand on his arm before catching herself and remembering her place.

"It's going to be okay, Buck," Steven said. "I'm not dead yet."

"You say that every time."

"I'm always right."

James snorted and shook his head, and Peggy smiled to herself at their easy banter. It seemed oddly…informal for royalty, but it was nice to see. "As long as you're awake, Sire, I think this would be a good time for me to get a sample of your blood."

"His blood?" James asked.

"Yes," Peggy replied. She poured a cup of water from the kettle and set one of her silver knives inside to sterilize. "I'll get a bit of the blood, and I'll run some tests on it—both magical and not. There are some diseases that are carried in the blood, you know."

James still looked skeptical. Steven looked curious.

"Your old healers never did anything with your blood, did they?" she guessed.

"No, they did," Steven said. He paused to cough. "It mostly had to do with leeches."

Peggy sighed and shook her head. "Barbarians," she said. "If these are our most learned men, I despair for the future of Camelot."

"Well, they're pretty old," Steven said. "Future's probably okay."

James let out a surprised snort of laughter.

Peggy smiled as well. "One only uses leeches," she said as she uncorked a vial, not wanting to pass up a teaching moment. "When dealing with bruises, or other sorts of swelling where there's too much blood. Otherwise, one generally wants to keep all of one's blood inside one's body."

"You know, I read something about that," Steven said. He smacked James weakly in the arm. "See, Bucky? Fourteenth Century medicine. We're moving into the future here."

"Well, as long as you stick around for that future, I'll buy it," he replied. He looked suspiciously at the knife Peggy removed from the hot water. "How much of his blood are you going to take?"

"Just enough to fill this up," Peggy said, holding up a tiny glass vial. "It really only takes a few drops for each test."

Peggy took his left hand and made a small cut at the base of his thumb. He winced, but held still, and she pressed against the sides of the cut and coaxed the blood into the vial. Then she set the vial aside and picked up his hand, hovering two fingers over the cut she had made. " _Behlíd_ ," she whispered. The wound knit back together, leaving a small, pink scar that looked days old instead of minutes.

"Wow," Steven breathed. James was staring at his brother's hand in awe, then looked up at Peggy with an evaluating expression. He nodded at her, and she smiled.

"It will take me some time to test this, I think," she said, picking up the vial of blood and setting it by her equipment. "But for now…" She rummaged through the medicines she'd laid out and set three vials on the table by his bed. "These are fairly generic—I shan't use any more serious magic until I know what precisely I'm looking at, but this will help with the fever. You should take it with food." She looked out the window at the setting sun. "I imagine it's coming up on time for dinner. I also imagine you're not particularly hungry these days?"

"Not really," Steven replied, prodding curiously at the spot on his hand that she'd healed.

James called one of the servants in, and Peggy ordered a bowl of beef broth, some fruit, and some bread.

"That sounds like a lot," Steven said.

"You'll eat it all," she replied.

James chuckled again. "Well, as much as I'd like to see her force you to eat dinner…" He stood up, patting Steven's leg as he rose. "I'd better get dressed for dinner in the hall." He grinned at Peggy. "Watch out for his puppy-dog eyes," he warned her. "He can charm his way into almost anything."

When the food arrived, Peggy helped the prince up into a somewhat more vertical position, then explained the purpose and the nutrition of each thing she'd called for as she helped him eat. It seemed to distract him from the fact that he didn't want to eat, though it did slow the process down as he asked questions. He was terribly inquisitive.

When he finished, she gave him the medicine and helped him lie down a bit—though not completely, so he could continue to breathe easier as he slept. "May I ask you a personal question, Your Highness?"

"Sure," he said.

"How old are you?"

He smiled at the question, though there was something a bit guarded in his eyes. "Twenty-five. Why do you ask?"

"I was expecting you to be a lot younger," she said. "Based on the way your brother spoke about you as we rode in."

He chuckled, and the guarded expression left his face. She wondered if he'd been worried she thought he was young because of his size. "He's a tad overprotective."

"Older brothers often are," she said with a smile. "He's terribly fond of you, though." She'd learned that in the cabin, and the way he'd spoken as they'd ridden and how she'd seen them together had only cemented that knowledge in her mind.

Steven's smile softened. "Yeah."

His eyelids were starting to flag, so Peggy made sure the blanket was secure around him, then turned her attention to her tests, absent-mindedly eating the dinner the servant had brought for her as she did so. She lined up several vials and poured a bit of blood into each of them. She mixed in various herbs, tinctures or potions, set up a couple over candles on her little metal stands to heat through the night, and whispered a couple of spells over two of them. Once everything was set up for the night, she checked on the prince once more and adjourned to the hallway to ask the servants about the quarters that were to be arranged for her. As per Prince James's instructions, she had been given the room just down the hall from Prince Steven's. It was above what someone of her station should have been granted, but evidently he wanted her close at hand. Peggy didn't complain—the chamber was bigger than her entire home back in the village, and the bed was the most luxurious thing she'd ever touched. She fell asleep immediately.

It took her a moment to remember where she was when a servant knocked on the door the following morning with breakfast for her. The pastries were delicious, the fruit was fresh, and there was even cream. "Oh, I could get used to this," she said to herself. She used the end of the last pastry to mop every drop of cream from the bottom of the bowl, then dressed, pinned up her hair, and went to attend to her patient.

It didn't surprise her that he was still asleep, so she set to examining her blood samples. The results could have been better, but as she'd thought last night, it was nothing she couldn't fix. She set to mixing up the first couple of remedies, pausing when the prince awoke to summon a servant and order breakfast for him.

"I feel like one of those geese that you fatten up by shoving food down their throats," he complained as she forced him to eat again.

"It's one piece of bread and half a pear," Peggy retorted calmly. "Food gives your body energy to fight the illness—you've got to eat _something_. And you could do with some fattening up," she added. "I can count your ribs through your shirt."

The prince scowled, but finished his breakfast.

She went on with mixing up her remedies, and he watched her curiously as he took a very long time to drink a cup of tea. "You…" he began. "Please tell me you didn't sleep on my floor last night," he said, eyeing the blanket draped over the chair by the fire. "Bucky remembered to give you a room, right?"

"He did," Peggy said. "The blanket was on top of the chest there, and I just wanted the space to spread some of this out on."

"Oh. Okay, good."

"If you don't mind, Sire," she said curiously. "May I ask why you call him 'Bucky'?"

The prince smiled. "Oh, that. It…I just started calling him that when I learned to talk. I'm not sure why. I was bad at the letter 'J', and our nurse thought maybe I was trying to say the word 'brother', but…" He shrugged. "I don't know. But it stuck."

Peggy smiled. "That sounds rather sweet."

Prince Steven smiled, though his cheeks colored a little bit. "Thanks, I guess. It's just sort of a thing between the two of us—Father always gives me this _look_ if I do it out in front of other people. It doesn't sound particularly royal."

"Well, perhaps not," Peggy agreed. "But it's nice. My brother used to call me 'Pip', you know."

"Yeah?"

"He was a lot bigger than I was. It was short for 'Pipsqueak'."

The prince laughed at that, and Peggy smiled, though she felt bad when the laughter made him cough.

"Sorry," she said, handing him a glass of water.

He waved the apology away. "I cough all the time. At least this time I got some amusement out of it."

"Speaking of that," Peggy said. "I've got a couple of things worked up for you after the results of your tests. This will help with the coughing," she said, turning to the table and picking up a vial. "It's not actually going to cure anything, because the problem is with your lungs, not your throat, but it will ease the pain in your throat until I can work something up for your lungs."

"Okay," he said. He took the vial and drank it down. He made a bit of a face, but swallowed the whole thing. "Wow, I wasn't expecting that texture. Is there honey in that?"

She nodded. "Coating the throat a bit helps with the pain."

"Huh."

"I'm going to leave the larger vial of it here on the table," she said, placing the large vial and a small glass next to his bed. "Drink it whenever you start to cough, or even feel like coughing."

"Okay. What's wrong with my lungs?"

"You've got a condition the Greeks called _asthmaíno_ ," she said. "Everyone, when they breathe, the pathways into the lungs expand and contract as air comes in and out," she said, gesturing with her hands to demonstrate. "Yours will contract and then sometimes get stuck, and there's not enough room to get enough air."

He was looking at her thoughtfully. "That's exactly what it feels like," he said. "No one ever knew what to do with that."

"Let me guess," she said, nodding to one of his old medicines she hadn't thrown out yet. "They had you drink a lot of frog bile?"

His eyes went wide. "That's what was in that?" He grimaced and put a hand to his stomach. "I didn't need to know that."

"Sorry," Peggy replied, smiling a little. "I promise, there will be no frog liquids in the remedy I give you. I've found it to be quite effective, but I need to track down some henna first. I was going to see if Healer Erskine had any."

She had some other remedies for him as well, for the fever and for the illness which had put him in bed for four weeks in the first place, which was just a general ague that had gone on too long. "Right," Peggy said, clapping her hands together. "The morning's got off to a good start, and we've got lots to do today."

"We do?"

"We do. First of all, you're going to have a bath. I'll have someone bring a bath and fill it while I go and see about the henna, then I'll come back and help you bathe."

The prince's cheeks went scarlet. "You're going to help me?"

"Yes. You can't sit up by yourself; I don't want you to drown."

"That's thoughtful, but that's not—I mean, I—" he stammered, and Peggy suddenly realized that he was embarrassed.

"Shall I see if there's a manservant who can do it?" she suggested.

"Yes, please," he said quietly.

She went to see about the henna, and was incredibly pleased at the variety of supplies Erskine had. As he was no longer using them, he told her she was welcome to take them anytime, and he promised that once she had the prince a bit more settled, he would take her out and show her the best places to find herbs she might need.

She returned to the prince's quarters and decided she'd best knock first. "It's Peggy," she said.

"Come in," called a voice that she recognized as Prince James. She came in to find him helping his brother into a clean shirt. His sleeves were damp, and she realized he'd been the one to help Steven clean up.

"Feel better?" she asked.

"I suppose," Steven replied a little unhappily. "Being clean is nice, but it's tempered somewhat by having to be bathed by my older brother."

"I did offer to get Mansfield to do it," James pointed out.

"I know," Steven snapped. "That's not better."

Peggy supposed that when faced with the indignity of being unable to wash himself, having his brother help was the lesser of a choice of evils he'd been faced with. "Well, we shall soon have you strong enough to manage this on your own."

Steven scowled and didn't seem entirely convinced, but she supposed he was entitled to be in a bad mood after being embarrassed like that, so Peggy would let it slide.

"Well, the bath is one thing off the list for today," Peggy said, and Steven's scowl deepened.

"What else are you going to make me do?" he grumbled.

She smiled. "We're going outside. You could do with sunshine and a bit of exercise, and we can have the room properly cleaned while you're out."

"What's wrong with my room?" he wondered, though he did seem to perk up a bit at the promise of sunshine.

"It's just dusty," she said. "Freshening it up will help you breathe better."

"Sounds good to me," James said.

"You're just enjoying watching her boss me around," Steven said.

"Well, sure," James allowed. "It's fun to watch you make those faces at somebody else. But you breathing better sounds like something I can get behind."

They talked for a bit before settling on a plan to get Steven outside—after the bath, Peggy thought it would be better to spare him any further indignity for the day, and she didn't think he would approve of being carried out by his brother. Fortunately, they did have a wheeled chair that he had used a couple of years ago, so James helped him settle into that and got him a blanket, then started moving him toward one of the private gardens. Peggy stayed behind to instruct the servants on how exactly she wanted the room cleaned, set up the first part of the remedy for Steven's lungs to steep over the fire in her room so it would be out of the way of the cleaning, then set off to join them.

It took her a little while to find the garden, but she stopped in the entryway and smiled when she did—James was sitting on a long bench with cushions on it, one arm around Steven, who was leaning against him. His brother was the only thing keeping him vertical, but he was smiling, looking out at the plants and blue sky around him and soaking it all in.

"How is the air out here treating you?" Peggy asked, stepping forward to join them.

"I can see what you meant about the dust in my room," Steven said. "It's nice out here."

"I'm glad," she replied. She joined them a little tentatively, not wanting to get too far from her patient, but a little unsure if she was supposed to sit on the floor or something. So far, the two of them had been a great deal less formal with her than she had been expecting, so she still wasn't quite sure of what the boundaries should be. No one seemed to object when she sat on the edge of the bench, however, so she stayed.

They sat in silence for a little while—silent except for Steven's coughing, that is, but even that was starting to sound a little better. She was pleased to see that James had brought along the throat remedy she'd made, and Steven drank some of it and his cough eased. Peggy suspected that he would be falling asleep shortly—he'd been awake for over an hour at this point, which was the longest she'd seen him keep his eyes open. She would let him get some rest before trying out any exercise.

He _did_ fall asleep not too much later. James smiled down at him fondly, and after he was sure he was asleep, he moved to lie him down on the cushions, doing so with the skill that came from a lot of practice. He motioned for Peggy to stand, took the cushion she'd been sitting on to prop Steven up a bit so he could breathe better, then walked with her to the next bench over and sat down again, far enough away that they could talk without waking Steven.

He asked her what she had discovered with her tests, and she told him, laying out the remedies she had planned and what they should do. The fever and ague she could cure in time, and she could take measures to strengthen his heart, but the lung condition was inherent. She would never be able to cure it, but she could fortify his lungs somewhat and make a medicine that would ease the symptoms and make it manageable, sometimes even to a point he wouldn't notice it, as long as he took the proper precautions.

She worried at first that James wouldn't be pleased with the news about his lungs, but he almost seemed relieved.

"You've got to understand," he told her. "Steve's been having trouble breathing almost since the day he was born. _Several_ healers have told us that he's lucky to be alive at all after twenty-five years of it. If you can get it to where it's just an annoyance instead of something constantly threatening to kill him, that's miracle enough for me." He looked over at his brother thoughtfully. "He seemed so much healthier when we were kids, you know? He'd get sick a lot back then too, and we did always have to be careful with his breathing, but he and I would play and run around the castle. I mean, you're seeing him at a pretty bad point right now, but even when he's healthy enough to get around the castle on his own, he's got less stamina than he used to."

Peggy nodded. "That will happen, I've found. Children's bodies are more resilient than a lot of people give them credit for, but there's also the fact that your brother's body has been fighting very hard for a long time. He's wearing out."

James nodded. "How long do you think he has?" he asked carefully.

Peggy smiled at him sadly. "You're used to being told your brother's going to die, aren't you?"

James nodded. "It's the first thing I ever remember being scared of. I was too young to remember much of when my mother died," he said. The Queen had died nearly twenty-five years ago, just before magic had been banned from the kingdom. Peggy remembered him saying he'd been not yet two at the time. "But it didn't take long for me to understand that dying meant someone went away forever." He shook his head. "I was three, and Steve was one, and he'd just started walking. He would hold on to my hands, those tiny little fists of his wrapped around my fingers," he reminisced with a soft smile. "And we would walk around, and he would laugh, and it was one of the best things I'd ever seen. That's one of my earliest memories. And then he got sick, with a bad fever, and people started talking about him dying. That's one of my other earliest memories," he said. "Worrying that I was going to lose him."

He was looking across the garden, but his eyes were miles away, and he looked so much older than his twenty-seven years. Death was something everyone was accustomed to, whether through disease, or wars, or famine, or old age, but three years old seemed very young to have to come to terms with the harsh realities of it.

"I'm not sure why some people have to fight so much harder for life than others," Peggy said. "But with the proper care, your brother's fight can be less difficult. He may yet live to be an old man."

Prince James looked at her dubiously at that.

"What?" she asked. "I would have thought you would have wanted to hear that."

"I do," he said. "But I'm the prince. People have a tendency to try to tell me what they think I want to hear. I'd much rather have the truth."

"That was the truth, Your Highness," Peggy said. "I've never been one to sugarcoat things. If I say something like that, I mean it."

James looked back over at Steven's sleeping form, then back at her in wonder. "Really?"

She nodded. "That's not to say it will always be easy. As I said before, he'll have to take certain precautions, but if he does, he could still have a full life in front of him."

He nodded at that, looking thoughtful, and they said nothing for several minutes, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Eventually he looked up at the sun, sighed, and stood. "I should go. I've got training this morning, and it sets a bad example for the new guys if I'm not on time." He nodded over at Steven's sleeping form. "You're good here?"

"We are," Peggy assured him. He left, pausing near his brother for a moment as if making sure he was still breathing. After a moment, Peggy got up and sat down at the foot of the bench Steven was on. He was still wheezing, but his color had improved, and the fever was going down. She sat back for a bit and enjoyed the chance to simply sit and not have to do anything.

It was another half an hour before the prince awoke. He blinked groggily, confused for a moment as Peggy helped him to sit up. "Everything alright, Sire?" Peggy asked.

He nodded. "I just forgot for a minute that we came out here. It's been a while since I left my room." Faint color rose in his cheeks. "Sorry for getting snappy with you earlier."

"You're far from the most difficult patient I've had," she said with a smile. "But thank you." She looked him up and down. "How do you feel about moving a bit?"

"Depends what you have in mind," he said.

"I'm hardly thinking of having you run laps around the garden," she said with a smile. "That will come later. For now, I thought we would work on standing."

Considering that he still struggled sitting up alone, it was little wonder he looked skeptical, but Peggy wanted to get an idea of his strength, and she wasn't just going to stand him up and let go. "Here's what we'll do," she said, positioning herself so she was sitting behind him. She ran her arms underneath his and grasped his hands. "I'm going to stand and bring you up with me. I'll support you until we're steady, then I'll shift so your legs are taking your weight, but I won't let go. Lean on me as much as you need, but see how long you can keep yourself up, and then I'll catch you as soon as it starts to look like you might drop. Alright?"

"Okay," he said. They stood, and he was ridiculously light, though that made him easy to get up on his feet. Once he was up, Peggy realized that if he could manage to stand straight, he was only a couple of inches shorter than her. He leaned heavily into her, but shifted his feet some to take his weight, still grasping her hands tightly. It was only a few seconds before she felt his arms start to tremble against hers, but he just gripped her hands tighter and kept at it. He made it about thirty seconds, though he was shaking badly as he dropped back against her.

"That was very good, Sire," she said, lowering him back down onto the bench. She poured him a glass of water, and rubbed a hand up and down his back as he drank it. He was breathing heavily, but he was controlling it, slow and deep, and his trembling muscles seemed to ease a little bit under her hand. "Longer than I was expecting for your first go."

"Felt kind of pathetic to me," he said.

"Considering how long it's been since you've gotten up, I disagree. And as your physician, you'll find it's my opinion that counts here," she added, and a smile turned up one side of his mouth.

"I think it's about time for lunch," she said. "After that, we'll let you rest a bit, and I'll show you some exercises you can do sitting down to strengthen your arms and legs."

"Okay. I am actually a little hungry," he said.

"Wonderful," Peggy replied with a smile.

"Just a little," he clarified. "That doesn't mean you can go ordering me a huge lunch or anything."

Peggy laughed, and she sent for bread and fruit as he'd had for breakfast and a bowl of soup. She asked one of the servants to wait with him while she went and checked on how the cleaning of his room was coming along and made some adjustments to the mixture she was making over her fire. Then she returned to the prince, helped him with his lunch, then ate her own lunch after he fell asleep.

"Sorry I keep falling asleep on you," he told her later when he woke up.

"It's quite alright, Sire," she said. "You're ill and you need rest. I wasn't taking it personally."

He smiled at that. "Still, it has to be pretty boring for you just sitting there watching me sleep."

"Not really," Peggy said. "It's nice to have the chance to just sit for a bit and relax. Back at home, it seemed as though I was always going and doing something."

Intrigued, he asked her what her life was like back home. He hadn't seen much of life outside the castle, which he seemed a bit embarrassed by, and was interested to learn more about what it was like in a village. She told him everything she could think of, adding more as he asked questions.

"But we're letting time get away from us, Sire," she said after a while. "Let me show you some of those exercises I was talking about. These are things you can do sitting in bed, and they'll help build your strength back up to where you can start moving about on your own again."

She walked him through several simple exercises, and, as he had with standing earlier, he found them a challenge, but was determined to get it done.

"If you don't mind me asking, Your Highness," Peggy said, watching as he worked his right leg. "Why are you so interested in village life? I shouldn't think it was something you'd ever have to try."

"Maybe not," the prince replied, keeping his eyes on the muscles he was trying to move. "But I don't think a ruler should be removed from their people. I mean, I know I'm not the one who's going to be the king one day, but that doesn't mean I don't have responsibilities. I can always serve my people better if I know what their lives are like."

Peggy blinked at him in surprise for a moment, not having expected such an answer, then smiled and moved in to adjust the angle at which he was bending his ankle.

They worked a bit more until Peggy was satisfied that he knew what he was doing, then she helped him back into his chair and they returned to his chambers. It had been cleaned to Peggy's satisfaction, and he took one of the potions Peggy had mixed up for him, then fell asleep again. She returned to her own room to finish up the mixture she was making for his lungs, and the rest of the evening passed quietly. His appetite still wasn't very large, but his complaint about being forced to eat dinner was a token protest, and Peggy smiled. Progress.

Over the course of the next few days, a routine was established. Peggy would come by in the morning to check on him and make sure he'd eaten. She would supply him with the appropriate medicines, and they would spend some time in the garden. His strength was returning, and by the end of the week, he was standing on his own power (for a little while) as long as he could lean on something. Peggy was making sure he bathed at least every other day, but now that he could sit up on his own, he was allowed to do so alone and he didn't mind so much. Prince James was frequently in to check on him, and Peggy was pleased to see that he didn't just worry about his brother, but seemed to genuinely enjoy his company—now that he was able to stay awake longer, the two of them would sit and talk, sometimes about kingdom business, and sometimes about nothing in particular.

Peggy enjoyed sitting and talking with the Prince as well—he was doing better at keeping himself upright and staying awake, but he was not yet what one would call well, so Peggy stayed close at hand. Once he was able to stay awake long enough to have a proper one, Peggy discovered he was a very pleasant conversationalist. He was well-read, as one would expect a prince to be, but he didn't look down on her less formal education, and was eager to learn from her about medicine and magic. He was thoughtful and clever, and Peggy found it very refreshing to hold a conversation with a man who didn't feel the need to talk over her or disregard whatever she was saying.

His lungs were making excellent progress now that Peggy had mixed up that Greek remedy for him. There was something for him to drink every day, as well as a powdered version to mix with steam for him to inhale when he was having a particularly rough go of it. She had yet to come up with something he could carry with him, though, in case of emergencies when he was away from his chambers, like what had happened this afternoon.

Upon later reflection, they decided that the cause of the attack was the servant passing by with an armful of flowers for the dining hall—certain types of pollen could easily trigger a contraction of the airways. There wasn't time to puzzle that out in the moment, however, since the prince began to wheeze almost as soon as the servant had walked by on their way out of the garden.

"Your Highness?" Peggy asked.

He had stopped talking and was staring at the ground in front of him, drawing in what were probably supposed to be deeper breaths.

"Try breathing a bit slower," she said, recognizing what was happening and placing a hand on his back, feeling how he was straining to breathe.

He tried, then gasped as he failed to do so. "I can't get enough air," he rasped. He started opening and closing one of his fists in a gesture Peggy recognized as mimicking her explanation of how the passages to his lungs opened and closed. "Stuck," he coughed.

For a moment, Peggy found herself paralyzed with uncertainty. The powder and kettle for inhaling the medicine were back in his chamber—she couldn't get him back to the room in enough time to help, and if she ran alone and fetched them, time would be lost reheating the water after taking it off the fire, even with magic. She wasn't sure what to do, but as his lips started turning blue, she decided saving his life was more important than worrying about doing magic out here in the open.

She put one hand behind his back to steady him, and pressed the other hard against his chest. " _Fulfielde_ ," she commanded, feeling magic flow out of her hand with enough force to jolt him back a bit. He inhaled deeply and started to cough, deep coughs that shook his body, but they settled back down quickly into breathing normally.

"Wow," he breathed.

"Are you alright, Sire?" Peggy asked, pulling her hand away.

He nodded, staring at her in awe. "Yeah." He rubbed thoughtfully at his chest where her hand had been, then looked back up at her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Peggy said, looking him up and down and deciding that he really was breathing better.

"I don't know if I'll ever get used to you doing that," he said. She hadn't done that particular spell before, but he'd seen her do some magic in the days since she'd arrived (all in the safety of his room, thus far).

"It's not that much," she protested, more out of habit than anything else. All things considered, that had been a smaller spell.

"I'm pretty sure you just saved my life," he pointed out. "It's a lot to me." He kept staring at her curiously. "Did you know your eyes glow when you do magic?" he asked her. "Sort of a…a golden color."

Peggy nodded. "All magicians do that, as far as I know."

He nodded, looked as though he wanted to say something more, but turned instead back to the exercise he'd been working on before. He was really making excellent progress. Peggy imagined he would be walking on his own again by the end of the next week.

"Can I ask you something about magic?" he asked her, and Peggy didn't think that was what he'd been about to say a minute ago, but she nodded. She was always happy to teach.

He cleared his throat. "Now, I can't…I can't figure out how to ask this without sounding ungrateful for everything you're doing," he said, faint color rising in his cheeks. "Which I'm not. I'm very grateful, and I—maybe I just don't know enough about magic, and this is a really stupid question, but…"

"What's your question, Sire?" Peggy asked with a smile.

"Well, you hear all these stories about magic, you know?" he said. "And you never really know what's real and what's fabrication—some of the things magic does in legends can be pretty fantastical. So, I guess I was wondering—and I'm sure there's a good answer!—but I was wondering why your magic can't just—" He clicked his fingers. "And heal me." He winced, as though he wasn't sure he should have asked that, and kept going before Peggy could answer. "Again, I'm not ungrateful, or saying you're going too slow, or anything like that. Actually, this, this is the fastest I've ever had any medicine work on me before, and I'm feeling a lot better already, and I don't want you think I'm insinuating—"

"You should pause to take a breath, Your Highness, before you have another attack," Peggy interrupted with a small smirk.

He blushed and did so.

"I wasn't offended," she assured him. "It's a very common question—people who don't do magic aren't aware of all the nuances to it, and I've been asked something along those lines several times. And I _have_ picked up by now that you're terribly curious," she added with a teasing smile. "I've been wondering how long it was going to take you to ask me that."

"Oh," he said. He didn't seem sure what else to say to that.

She chuckled. "To answer the question," she said. "I'll tell you that the thing about magic is that the whole thing is a system of checks and balances. It's basically a sort of energy in the world, and when you use magic, you're moving that energy about and repurposing it. But when you do that, it leaves a void where it was, and you've got to balance that back out. Do you follow me so far?"

"I think so," he said, and she could tell he was already thinking of questions, so she went on.

"There's a great deal of magic where that exchange is fairly negligible," she explained. "Your everyday magic, like lighting a fire or mending a hole in a shirt, but even some of the more complicated things, like potion-making or scrying, are on that lower end of the scale. Actually, everything I've done to heal you so far falls into that category. Generally, the exchange is reckoned with the person doing the magic, and in these cases, it just makes me a bit tired. Not a lot, though," she clarified. "Like what I did with your lungs just now, that took about the amount of energy it would to walk up a flight of stairs a bit too quickly. I would have to be doing magic all day to really feel the effects of it."

He nodded, still following along.

"But the more powerful the magic gets, the bigger the balance you've got to pay back. Dark magic really gets into that—by default, the energy for a spell comes from the caster, but that's easy enough to get around. Sometimes, power can be drawn from magical objects, but you can also make someone else pay the price for your magic. That's where the advice to be careful making deals with magicians comes from. If you aren't careful with your wording, a dark magician could draw that energy from you or your environment."

"How do you mean?"

"Well," Peggy said. "Maybe you have a sick child, and the magician heals them, but then your well dries up, or your garden dies, or something like that."

He nodded.

"That depends on the magician, of course, because for someone accustomed to working with that sort of power, it would be just as easy to draw that power from an empty patch of forest, or a chicken or a goat or something like that. Not all magic that strong _is_ dark, of course—it depends what you do with it and its after-effects, but the more powerful magic is, the more…unscrupulous the sorts of people it tends to attract. Dark magic does tend to be quite strong, because the people who practice it are more willing to pay the price that sort of power demands. It takes more energy to curse someone or make them sick or kill them than it does to heal," she said.

"I think I follow you," he said. "But that actually makes it sound like you're saying it would be easy to heal me completely. Unless I'm missing something."

"I was coming to that," Peggy said. "All of what I just said is true on a smaller, everyday sort of scale. But, if you'll pardon me saying so, there is quite a lot wrong with you, Sire. Some of it is curable, but some of it, like your lung condition or the weakness in your heart, is inherent. Curing that isn't small, it's rewriting the very makeup of your body. And because that is how you were created, it would take an enormous amount of power to overrule that. Power that's getting into life and death sorts of balances."

His eyes widened. "You're saying someone else would have to die for that to happen?"

Peggy nodded.

"That's terrible."

Peggy's smile didn't have a lot of humor to it. "Magic is a terribly logical, terribly unfeeling sort of force."

He nodded. "I can see why you don't practice that sort of magic." A small smile turned up one side of his mouth. "I don't think I would like you nearly as well if you did."

She did smile at that. "I don't know that I would like myself much either." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I think it's those sorts of magicians, Sire, that your father was afraid of when he made the law about magic. That kind of magic can turn the tide of wars, reverse natural disasters, and almost anything else, but the havoc it causes is rarely worth it."

He nodded again. "Thank you for explaining," he said.

He seemed deep in thought, and Peggy said, "I am sorry I'm not able to heal you any faster, Sire," not sure if he was disappointed in her answer or if it was something else.

"Oh, don't be," he said, sincerely enough that Peggy believed him. She wondered what it was that was bothering him, then. He smiled apologetically. "Like I said, it was a poorly worded question. What you've done is amazing, and I truly am grateful." He grinned mischievously. "Even if I do complain about the food and the exercise sometimes."

Peggy laughed. "People who are dying seldom have the energy to complain," she said. "I see it as a sign of progress."

He laughed at that. "You know, my brother always says he knows I'm feeling better when I start complaining about things."

"He's a wise man," she said with a smile.

"Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Of course, Sire," she said.

His smile got a bit larger. "Would you feel comfortable just calling me Steve?"

She blinked in surprise. "What?"

"The whole 'Sire', 'Your Highness' thing gets really old really fast," he told her. "And with as much time as you and I spend together…" He shrugged. "Of course, if it makes you uncomfortable, we can stick with titles, but I generally prefer for my friends to call me by name."

Peggy continued to blink in surprise. "Um…" she said. "I don't…I don't think any of that was what I was expecting you to say."

He smiled at that.

"Alright," she said after a moment. "I can give it a try…Steve." It felt very odd to say that, and yet, it didn't feel wrong, either. She smiled at him. "I've got to say, I never imagined myself in a position to be on a first-name basis with royalty."

He laughed. "Well, I never imagined myself having a friend whose eyes glowed, but here we are." He paused. "You probably shouldn't call me Steve in front of my father, though."

"Noted," she said. "Although, seeing as I haven't seen the king since the day I arrived, I don't see that being a problem."

He inclined his head in agreement, and Peggy almost asked _why_ she hadn't seen his father yet, considering how often Prince James came to visit, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She was calling the prince by his first name. That was probably familiar enough to be getting on with.

After taking him back to his room to get some rest, Peggy decided to go and have a talk with Erskine about the problem of creating some sort of portable remedy. They spent a very pleasant afternoon at his work table drinking tea and discussing magic. It was like her old school days. She left in the end with the idea of drying some of the herbs out and putting them in a little sachet that he could carry in his pocket. The proper spell on the sachet ought to keep it potent enough for a while that she wouldn't need to constantly be making new ones for him.

The next morning, Prince James came by for his usual visit while she was sorting through the best herbs to use for the sachet. "Morning, Steve," he said. "Peggy," he added, giving her a friendly smile. He sat down on Steve's mattress with a bounce, dropping several rolls of parchment onto the blanket. "You feel like working today?"

Steve arched an amused eyebrow. "Considering you've already made yourself at home on my bed; sure."

James grinned. "Tell me what you think of these," he said, handing three documents to his brother.

Steve was quiet for several minutes while he read over them. "Well," he said at last. "Sounds to me like Percival is still pretty pissed off about last year."

"That's what I thought," James agreed. He shook his head. "He loses tournaments all the time; you'd think he could let this one go."

Steve arched an eyebrow. "Well, you _could_ have been more gracious about your victory."

Whatever had transpired at last year's tournament, James had the grace to blush at the pronouncement. "Okay, yes," he allowed. "But I already apologized. And I did it the way you told me to—it was a good one."

Steve nodded. "When are you going up there?"

"Next week."

Steve studied the letters again. "And it also looks like Percival's really been getting cozy with King Rufus. You should go sooner—if you want Rufus on our side, you need to cut into his time with Percival."

"That's what I thought too," James said. "I was thinking I should go tomorrow, take maybe eight or nine of the knights—"

"No," Steve interrupted. "No, that's too many. This is a trade negotiation, not a war council. That many guys, you're going to look like you know Percival's mad and you're scared of him, or that you're trying to intimidate Rufus into coming around to your side."

"Dad always takes that many when he goes," James pointed out.

"Yes, but Dad's the king," Steve countered. "There's different rules for that. You want enough people for protection on the road and to show some status, but not so many as to look threatening. And no matter what Percival's been saying about you to Rufus before you get there, a smaller entourage will make it clear that you don't think you need protecting from him, which makes you look like you can handle yourself. That makes him look bad if he's been trash-talking you, and makes you look like the sort of competent adult Rufus would want to do business with."

James considered. Somewhat to Peggy's surprise, he didn't argue. "Okay," he said. "How many?"

"Four," Steve said. "Make Dugan take a bath and force that mustache into some semblance of order, but he's big and scary enough to keep Percival from doing anything stupid. You'll want Gabriel too—if Percival's guys start talking to each other in Celtic, he can tell you what they're saying."

"When did he start speaking Celtic?" James asked.

"Over the winter," Steve said. "I think that brings his language count up to eight."

"He does have a head for them," James agreed. "I didn't realize he'd learned a new one. Okay, so, Dugan and Gabriel; who else?"

"I'd take Morita. He's one of your best fighters, but he's small enough, you can sit him at the table next to Dugan to kind of soften up how big he looks for Rufus's sake," Steve went on. "And I know he gets on your nerves sometimes, but I'd take Jack as your fourth."

"I have three knights named Jack, but I'm guessing by the comment about my nerves, you mean Thompson?" James said.

"The man has a silver tongue," Steve pointed out. "You're there to win a trade negotiation; you could use all the charm you can get."

"I'm charming," James protested.

"Yes," Steve agreed, smiling. "I'm just saying some extra couldn't hurt."

James frowned, though he didn't press the point—the look on his face told Peggy he knew his brother was right. They discussed James's trip a little longer, noting points to remember to bring up and strategies to try. Peggy went out at one point to fetch some more herbs, and James was coming out as she came back.

"Take care of him while I'm gone," he told her.

"Of course I will, Sire," she assured him.

"I don't mean," he began, realizing how his words might have come across. "That is to say, you've been doing fantastic work so far. I've never seen him recover this quickly from anything. I just…"

"You worry," Peggy finished for him. "I understand." She smiled warmly. "I shall take very good care of him for you."

"Thank you."

Steve was looking tired when she came back in, but he was still awake. "Busy morning for you?" Peggy asked.

Steve smiled. "Not too far off from usual, actually," he said. "When I'm not bed-ridden, anyway," he added.

"Is this James's first negotiation?" she wondered. In all her interactions with Prince James so far, he'd always seemed very self-assured, but there had been an undercurrent of nervousness as he sought his brother's council this morning.

Steve chuckled. "No. Far from it, actually. He's been doing this for years. This is just his first solo negotiation. Our father is usually there too. Buck knows what he's doing and he's been trying to get Dad to let him do it on his own for a while now. And now that he's got the chance, he just wants to make sure it goes really well."

Peggy nodded. "The king isn't one to offer second chances?" she guessed.

"No," Steve agreed. "He messes this one up, it'll be a while before he gets another shot."

"Well, it sounds as though you gave him good advice," Peggy said.

"No need to act so surprised," Steve said with a little smirk.

"What? I didn't—" Peggy began, though she _had_ been wondering where Steve had gained that sort of wisdom from a sickroom.

Steve chuckled. "You were thinking it," he said. "I don't live in my room, you know." He moved to readjust his pillow before continuing. "I've been hanging around the royal court for twenty-five years—when I'm not sick, anyway. And for the years I was too young to be expected to contribute, I watched. Learned a lot that way."

Peggy nodded. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply…"

"It's alright," Steve told her, and he looked like he meant it. "I wasn't offended." He grinned. "You don't ask as many questions as I do, so I figured I would just take my chance to go ahead and answer the one I could see you working on."

Peggy did laugh at that.

"Actually," he went on. "Once Bucky leaves, I'll be expected to sit in on some of the court stuff that he normally would."

"Are you well enough for that?" Peggy wondered. He'd been improving greatly, but he was still sick.

"I'm expected to be there," he said again. "And it's not every day," he added. "A couple of hours a day, three or four times a week…I should be alright." He eyed her a little uncertainly. "Actually, um, I was going to ask if you…I thought it might be prudent if you were there too."

"Me?"

"In case of, you know, medical things."

"You mean like if you stop breathing in the middle of a council meeting?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling a little self-consciously.

"And that wouldn't be…" Peggy paused, searching for the word. "Presumptuous?"

"For you to be there? No. People frequently have aides in with them, and Erskine has been there a few times when Father was ill and still had important business to discuss." He gave that self-deprecating little smile again. "And I'm the castle invalid, so, no, no one would be surprised to see you with me."

Peggy nodded. "Alright. If you want me there, I'd be happy to."

He smiled. "You'll have to sit kind of back away from the table, and it will probably be really boring, but…"

"So I'll just watch," Peggy said with a little grin. "Perhaps I'll learn a few things."

He laughed at that.

Peggy could see the morning's brainstorming had tired him out, and when she suggested he rest some after lunch, he didn't argue. After the servants cleared the meal away, one of them stayed behind, as though she was waiting for something.

"Peggy, this is Angela," Steve said, pointing to the other woman.

"My Lady," Angela said, giving her a curtsy.

"Oh, no, I'm, I'm not a Lady," Peggy said quickly. "You don't need to do that."

"I thought, um," Steve said. "I thought since we were going to be in court and everything, I thought maybe Angela would be able to help you—I mean, I don't really know anything about ladies' dresses and stuff…"

A light came on as Peggy figured out what he was trying to say. "You think I should look nicer before going in front of a bunch of nobles," she finished for him. She supposed he did have a point. The dresses she owned were good quality, but plain and rather worn, and not exactly royal council attire.

Steve blushed to the roots of his hair. "No! I mean, I—you look very nice. Already. The way you…You look great. I just, you know it—I'm sorry. I—"

Peggy chuckled to herself, and she noticed Angela biting her lip to hide a smile. "I wasn't offended," she assured him. "I would be very happy to update my wardrobe."

"Are you sure?" he asked, still very red.

"I am," she said. She smiled. "It was very thoughtful of you to think of it. Thank you."

He still looked a little uncertain, but he nodded. Peggy heard Angela suppress a giggle behind her.

"Why don't you get some rest," Peggy told him. "I'll go with Angela and see what we can find, then I'll come back and we'll see about taking a walk around the garden."

Steve nodded and Peggy adjourned to her room with Angela. "If you'll just come stand over here by the window where the light's good, Ma'am," Angela told her, pulling a measuring tape from her pocket. "I'll take some measurements and see what we need."

"Alright," Peggy said, stepping over closer to the window. "But, please, I'm really not a Lady or anything like that. I would much prefer if you called me Peggy."

Angela grinned. "Alright. You can call me Angie."

Peggy smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Angie."

As Angie took her measurements, she asked Peggy about herself and where she was from, and upon discovering that she was a village girl like herself, any remaining formality of Angie's fell away.

"I've gotta tell you," Angie said. "I am so excited to finally get somebody to dress up. All the men around this castle…" She shook her head, then nudged Peggy's arm to the side to get another measurement. "Not that I wouldn't mind the chance to get to dress Prince James," she added with a grin and a slightly indecent noise. "I have yet to see the man wear something that didn't flatter him. But all these men, it's just tunics and capes and armor. There's no variety. Not like when we have ladies come to visit the court—that's my main job, actually. I'm the lady-in-waiting for any visiting countesses or duchesses or what have you. When there's no visitors, then I'm in the kitchens." She sighed. "I would love it if there was always a lady around the castle I could work for."

"So there's no one?" Peggy said. She knew King Uther had never remarried after the queen died. But James and Steve were certainly of marriageable age. "No suitors for the princes, or anything like that?"

Angie grinned. "Oh, Prince James has certainly had his share of hopeful fathers come calling with eligible daughters in tow. And he's enjoyed the attention immensely, let me tell you, but between you and me…" She leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. "The Earl of Marlowe has been invited back five times since the winter with his daughter, the Lady Victoria. And there was a bit of a scandal last time when she and the Prince were both _quite_ late arriving to dinner in the hall together."

Peggy laughed.

"Okay, I think I have what I need," Angie said, straightening up. "Let me go get some things, and we'll get started." She left and returned promptly with her arms full of clothes, pins, needles and threads. "Try this one on," she said, tossing one to Peggy and setting the rest down on the bed. Peggy went behind the screen to change, and Angie picked up their earlier conversation as if she'd never left.

"Now, Prince Steven doesn't get many visitors of that sort," Angie continued. "Younger sisters, or cousins, maybe, of some of the ladies that come to see Prince James. They're usually not keen to come back. It's a shame, really, because he _is_ a sweetheart," she said. "Oh, that looks good!" she declared as Peggy stepped out from behind the screen. "A little too long, but I can fix that."

"You don't think it's a bit much?" Peggy wondered, smoothing it down uncertainly. The dress was a deep blue with red around the wrists and neckline—a simple enough design, but the material was far finer than anything Peggy had ever worn.

"Oh, honey, around here that's an everyday dress," Angie assured her, selecting a series of pins. "We'll find you something really fancy later, once you start going to dinners in the hall and everything."

"Oh, I don't think I'll be doing that," Peggy said. She couldn't imagine why she ever would.

Angie hummed and inclined her head. "We'll see," she said with a little smile. "Anyhow, like I was saying, Prince Steven is a sweetheart, but I guess on account of him being sick so much and all, he has a hard time keeping girls' attention. And he's sure not as smooth as his brother is."

Peggy huffed a laugh, thinking back to him trying to bring up getting her some new clothes. "I suppose that's true," she said, stepping up onto a stool so Angie could pin the hem of her dress. "But I find it's best to be wary of men who are too charming."

"Amen," Angie told her, not looking up from her pins.

"And Prince Steven certainly has his good points," Peggy went on. "It's a shame they won't give him a chance. I find him very pleasant company."

Angie did pause in her pinning then, looking up at Peggy with a grin.

"What?"

Angie chuckled. "Nothin'."

The next hour passed very pleasantly as Peggy tried on a few more dresses and Angie made her adjustments, chatting amiably all the while. By the time they were done, Peggy was up to date on the latest gossip around the castle, Angie's favorite places to shop in the village, and the trials of working for an irritable cook when what you really wanted to do was sew.

"Well," Peggy said as Angie gathered up her things to leave. "I don't know how long I'm going to be around, but I suppose I could always request some new clothes from time to time if it helps you get out of the kitchen."

Angie beamed. "Oh, Peggy, you're a doll! I would love that!"

Still grinning, she left, promising to have at least one of the dresses ready for her to accompany the prince to court tomorrow. Peggy went back to check on Steve, who was just waking up as she arrived. "Did you have a nice time with Angie?" he asked while she performed her usual checks of his pulse and breathing.

"I did," Peggy said.

Steve nodded. "Yeah, she's nice." He paused in leaning down carefully to get his shoes. "I really am sorry if I was being rude about your clothes earlier," he said.

"You weren't," Peggy said. "It's an occasion that requires something more formal than anything I have, and it was very practical of you to think of it." She cut him off as he started to open his mouth. "I wasn't offended. Don't apologize for it again."

He blushed a little, but smiled. "Okay."

He could walk all the way to the garden now if she kept hold of his arm, and their usual routine was to walk there, sit for a bit so he could catch his breath, then do a turn or two around the garden before sitting some more and coming back. Prince James was waiting for them when they got there, so Peggy decided to leave them to let James help him with the walking and give them some time together before he left. She finished up with her herbs for the sachet, had a bit of a rest herself, then went to fetch Steve and bring him back to his room.

Steve sighed as he dropped back down into the chair by his bed. "I'm so ready to be able to move around on my own again," he declared, letting his head drop back against the back of the chair.

"You really are doing well," Peggy reminded him, checking his pulse. "Considering that two weeks ago, you could hardly move at all."

"Yeah, I know," he sighed. "I just…I hate being sick."

"I don't know of anyone that enjoys it," Peggy said, and that got a smile out of him.

"No, I know," he said. "It's just…Sometimes I feel like, like that's all people really see about me. Like my illnesses are what define me. And when I can't even get around on my own, that just solidifies it even more."

Peggy rested a hand on his arm, empathy swelling up in her chest. She knew what it was like to have people settle on your most visible trait and build their expectations around that. In her case, it was the fact that she was a woman—throughout her training, she'd had to fight with almost everyone besides Healer Erskine to prove she even belonged there in the first place. Even now, she often thought that while her skills should speak for themselves, if there had been a male healer in her village, she would have had a harder time keeping her business. It was a different battle that Steve was fighting, but not really _that_ different.

"I'm sorry, Steve," she told him. "But, I promise, you'll be well again soon." She went on as he looked up at her. "And by the time I'm done with you, you'll be getting sick far less often. You'll have time to show them yet what you can do."

He smiled at her, soft and warm and a little bit awed, and he really did have a lovely smile. "Thanks, Peggy," he said. "I…Thank you."

Steve went to bed early that night, in preparation for his busy day tomorrow, and Peggy decided to use the time to take a good bath and get her hair washed. Upon returning to her room, she found that Angie had evidently appointed herself as Peggy's maid—she'd brought back the dress she'd altered, tidied up the room, and when she heard Peggy wanted a bath, she jumped to get things ready for her.

"Oh, no, Angie, you don't have to do that," Peggy told her. "I can do it myself."

"Well, of course you can," Angie replied, hanging up the new dress. "But you don't have to. You're in the palace, honey—and the Prince's personal physician. That's status enough to have a lady-in-waiting, and really, they should have called me as soon as you got here." She smirked. "And I think I know what you're worried about, so, don't. I get paid for this."

"Well, that's good," Peggy said, feeling a little better about the situation. "Still, it's a bit odd. I'm used to looking after myself."

"Well, just think of me as someone who's helping you fit in to palace life, then," Angie said. She batted her eyes in a mock pout. "Please don't make me go back to the kitchen."

Peggy laughed at the face she was making. "Alright," she agreed, and Angie grinned. "But you will tell me if I overstep, won't you?"

"Yes, My Lady," Angie said with an exaggerated bow.

"You are going back to the kitchen if you keep calling me that."

Angie laughed merrily. "I like you." She gestured to the little room off to the side of Peggy's. "Your bath is all ready. I'll set a few things out in here for you, and then I'll leave you your space for the night. Just leave the water when you're done and someone can empty the tub later. Do you want me to come back in the morning to help with your hair?"

"Maybe?" Peggy said. "I was just going to pin it up like I normally do. Do I need to do anything special with it for court?"

"Not necessarily," Angie said. "Especially since you're not participating. We'll see what we think once you get that dress on."

"Thank you, Angie," Peggy said, heading for the tub room

"You're welcome, Peggy," Angie replied. "Good night."

Peggy was still feeling a little odd about officially having a maid, but as she sank down into the tub, she found it hard to hang on to any of that guilt when the hot water felt so _good_. She gave her hair and her self a good, thorough cleaning, then stayed soaking in the warmth until the water started getting cold.

After drying off, she moved back into her room and saw what it was Angie had been setting out—a silky, soft nightdress that Peggy slipped into immediately and never wanted to remove again, and a tray with a fine set of combs and brushes and a little jar of lavender water for her hair. She sat down in front of the mirror and combed out her hair, working the lavender water through it with the brush. It smelled heavenly, and Peggy could count on one hand the number of times she'd been able to afford such a luxury before. She really could get used to living in a palace.

Angie came by the next morning, approved of Peggy's dress and declared herself a master seamstress, then decided pinning her hair up would probably work, but it wouldn't hurt to dress it up a tad. She braided Peggy's hair but left some hanging on the sides, then pinned it up and used the leftover part to make two tiny braids that she wound around the rest of it, creating a deceptively intricate effect.

She'd also brought a bag, thinking that Peggy would need something to carry any medicines the prince might need, but wanting her to have something nicer than her leather satchel. Peggy was able to fit the mixture she had made for his cough and everything she needed for the _asthmaíno_ , with space for a couple more things besides.

She went to Steve's door and knocked and waited in case he was dressing.

"Come in!" he called. "Wow," he said when she walked in. "You look really nice." He frowned. "I mean, you looked nice before. Really nice. This is just—you know—it's different, and—"

"Thank you, Steve," she said with a smile. Angie was right, he certainly wasn't smooth, but there was an earnestness about it that was very endearing. "You look nice too." This was the first time Peggy had seen him in clothing that looked at all princely, and it suited him. The dark fitted trousers and boots accentuated his slender legs, the boldness of the red of his tunic brought out the brightness of the blue in his eyes, and the gold thread embroidered in a pattern across the shoulders complemented his hair.

"Oh. Um, thanks," he said, blushing a bit. He smoothed down his tunic uncertainly. "It's all still a little looser than it should be."

"You do have some weight to gain back yet," Peggy agreed. "But it really does look nice." She offered him her arm. "Shall we?"

They had talked it out the night before, and Peggy was going to walk with him as she usually did as far as the meeting hall, but then she would pull back and let him walk in on his own. It was a distance he should be able to manage, and he was afraid no one would take him seriously if they didn't think he had the strength to walk into the room himself. He did manage it in the end, though the table was farther from the door than he had anticipated. Walking in behind him, Peggy could see the effort it took him to make the last few yards unaided, but he did it, and inclined his head in greeting to the men around him who were saying how good it was to see him on his feet again.

Spotting where the other aides were waiting, Peggy stepped back to join them in the wings. The king arrived and everyone stood up, then took their seats again after he greeted them. "You're looking well, Steven," he told the prince.

"Thank you, Father," Steve replied.

"I wouldn't have expected to see you up and about so soon," said one of the men next to him.

"I have my new healer to thank for that," Steve replied, nodding to where Peggy was sitting. "She truly is a miracle worker."

A few heads turned her way curiously, and Peggy wasn't sure what she was supposed to do, though she thought she should suppress the urge she felt to wave. She inclined her head serenely at them, and they nodded and returned to business.

Steve had been right earlier, the whole affair really wasn't that interesting. The first part seemed to be going over various reports, everything from military briefs to census notes to inventory. It was after the reports were finished and they started working out what to do about them that things got a bit more interesting. One really could learn a lot by listening, and it was interesting to see how the minds that ran the country worked. Peggy was able to form impressions of each council member fairly quickly—the majority were fair-minded, if tedious; a few were sticks in the mud; a few seemed to enjoy debating more than actually coming to any conclusions; one or two were clearly only in this for the money; and there was one who was smug and charming in an oily kind of way that Peggy didn't like at all.

Discussions occasionally turned to debate as the morning went on, but it was kept civil for the most part. This was, well, it really was quite dull except for when the arguing _did_ happen, but if you could look beyond the dullness, there was a very complex, orderly machine ticking away.

Steve hadn't said much, especially at the beginning of the meeting, and Peggy wondered if he wasn't really supposed to be talking, or if he was just listening and getting his bearings after being away. He did start chiming in later, and his suggestions were generally well-received, though every now and then, Peggy picked up a touch of condescension that made her bristle.

The meeting did end on an exciting note, with Steve and the smug, oily one (who Peggy had worked out was named Alexander) getting into an argument. It got very heated on Alexander's side, and Peggy was surprised he was so bold as to shout at the prince, but Steve kept his head and replied calmly and levelly, though Peggy noticed the angry way he kept tightening his jaw. His calmness only seemed to anger Alexander further, though he stopped when the king stood up and declared that was enough for the day.

There was silence for a moment, then everyone nodded and got to their feet to leave the room. Alexander nodded, and he gave the king and the prince a bow, but he did not apologize. Peggy came forward to help Steve up, but was stopped as the king held up his hand.

"If you would give me a moment with my son, good lady," he said. Peggy nodded, not sure if she should leave the room, but Steve nodded for the door, so she left. She stayed near the door, leaving it open a crack in case Steve needed anything, though she quickly wondered if she shouldn't have gone farther, since she could still hear what they were saying to each other.

"What was that?" Uther asked unhappily.

"Grand Duke Alexander was wrong," Steve replied.

"Yes, you made that very clear."

"What he was proposing was against the law!" Steve pressed. "I shouldn't have been the only one to point that out."

"You shouldn't have pointed it out at all," Uther said. "It was a law whose breaking would not have hurt anyone, and the Grand Duke's family is one of the oldest in Camelot's court. His station deserves to be treated with respect."

"No one's station should make them above the laws," Steve argued. "Otherwise, what's the point of having them? And since we're speaking of respect, if he won't respect the laws for their own sake, shouldn't he respect the person telling him to follow them? He might be a Grand Duke, but I'm the Prince."

Peggy thought he made a good point, but evidently Uther did not agree.

"A Prince you may be, but the Grand Duke has contributed far more to this Council over the years than you have," he said.

"If I'm not expected to contribute, then why have me attend?" Steve demanded.

"You are only here because your brother can't be," Uther snapped. "And that is all. You would do well to remember that."

Peggy hurried farther along the hallway as she heard footsteps approaching. The king strode out into the hallway, his cloak flapping behind him as he walked. "See the prince back to his chambers," he told Peggy as he walked by.

"Yes, Your Highness," she said, dropping into a curtsy, but he was already gone. She returned to the hall, hurrying to the table where Steve was still sitting, staring red-faced at the table with his jaw clenched. "Steve?" she asked carefully. He didn't say anything. "Do you mind if I…?" she said at last, stepping closer. She wanted to check his pulse and his breathing after all of that and make sure he hadn't overworked anything. He nodded and shifted a little so she could do it.

She performed her checks in silence, and though his heart was going a bit fast, it was already coming back down to normal. "Your medicine has been working really well," Steve said, as if confirming what she was thinking. "I keep expecting to feel that weird flutter in my chest, but my heart actually feels pretty good."

"I'm glad," she said, not sure what else to say.

"You heard all that, didn't you?" he asked.

"I did," she confessed.

He nodded.

"Can I help you up?" she asked when he didn't say anything else.

"No," he said. At first she thought he was angry with her for overhearing, but he pushed himself up into a standing position and looked at her. "I can do this." Peggy nodded and fell into step beside him. She had an inkling what this was about.

They made it all the way out of the hall, down the corridor and up the first flight of stairs before his breathing started to sound pained. "I've got it," he snapped when Peggy reached out a hand to help him.

"You don't have to do this to prove yourself, you know," Peggy told him.

The glare he shot her told her she was right but should probably have been more delicate about it. "And what would you know about it?" he snarled.

Peggy folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow. "There's no need to discount my advice the way your father did yours just because you're embarrassed," she told him sharply.

Steve colored, but he continued to glare. "Leave me alone," he said tightly.

"If this is the sort of treatment I can expect, then I shall do so with pleasure, Your Highness," Peggy said, emphasizing his title with a deep bow before stalking away.

After splashing some cold water on her face and taking a few turns of her massive room, Peggy felt her ire start draining away. She also felt guilt start seeping in as she remembered how exhausted Steve had looked and how far he still had to go to his room. She could at least make sure he got there without hurting himself.

She didn't see him anywhere as she went down the stairs, so she went back up and knocked carefully on the door of his room before sticking her head inside. He was there, sitting in the chair in front of the fire with shaking legs, wheezing and trying to inhale the steam coming from the boiling pot of herbs that was meant to clear his airways. Peggy's twinge of guilt deepened, and she closed the door and walked over to him.

"I'm fine," he said as she reached out a hand for his chest.

Peggy ignored him, as she should have done when he'd insisted on walking all the way up here on his own. She placed her hand on his chest and said the spell before he could back away, and he gasped and started breathing smoothly again.

"Thank you," he said, not looking at her. He pushed the pot of herbs away.

"You're welcome," she replied.

He drew in a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he told her, finally looking up to meet her eyes. His cheeks were still a deep red, but it was from shame, not struggling to breathe. "You were right; my father…I let him get to me, and I just threw that back all over you. There was absolutely no excuse for that, and I am truly and deeply sorry."

"Thank you," Peggy said. She felt her own cheeks coloring a little. "I should apologize too. I shouldn't have said what I did."

Steve shrugged. "You were right."

"Perhaps, but I could have been much kinder about it," she told him. "I'm sorry, Steve."

Some of the tension relaxed out of his shoulders when she said his name. "Thanks," he said softly.

She sat down in the chair across the table, not sure if she should say something or not. After a moment, she reached over and rested her hand on top of his, making him look up at her in surprise. "Your father shouldn't have said what he did either," she told him. "Even if you'd been wrong, he shouldn't have spoken to you like that, but you weren't. You were right in what you said, and he should have backed you up."

Steve was quiet for a minute. "Dad's never…" he finally started, his voice quiet. "I've never felt like he's had much faith in me," he said softly. "And I think other people see that and…" He shrugged. "I know what I'm doing, but who's going to argue with the king? And I feel like it gets worse every time I get sick, like all the progress I made before gets erased and I have to start over again." He sighed deeply. "I'm so tired of having to keep fighting my way up the same hill."

Peggy nodded, understanding, but not sure what there was to say to that. "Well," she said at last. "You're certainly more than just a placeholder for your brother. This was my first view of royal politics, but even I could see that."

His eyes shone with awed gratitude, and a tiny smile lifted his lips. "Thank you," he said softly.

She smiled back. "You're welcome. I'm sorry your first day back to work was so unpleasant."

He chuckled a little bit at that. "Yeah, well, it can only go up from here, right?"

"Let's hope so," Peggy agreed.

The day's business, never mind the walk up the stairs, had worn him out, and he had trouble staying awake all the way through lunch. He slept for a longer part of the afternoon than he usually did, and was quieter than normal when they took their walk later in the garden.

Peggy suspected he had a lot on his mind, and she was growing ever more curious about his relationship with his father. Prince James had been a near constant presence through his brother's convalescence, but Peggy had only ever seen the king on the day she first arrived and at the council this morning. She assumed someone was keeping him updated on his son's recovery, but it struck her as very odd that he hadn't visited. Then there was how harsh he'd been with Steve this morning…She had a lot of questions, but even if it wasn't a clearly sensitive subject for Steve, it was hardly her place to ask.

After their last turn of the garden, they sat down on one of the benches along the wall. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the breeze rustling the leaves of the trees, then, "You want to ask about my father, don't you?" Steve asked.

Peggy was a little startled, but she didn't deny it. "I suppose I should stop being surprised at how perceptive you are," she told him, earning a small smile. He looked at her like he was waiting for something, so she carried on. "I have to admit, there are things I would like to know. But your relationship with your father is your business, and I don't want to pry."

He studied her for a moment. "You mean that, don't you?" he said at last.

"I do," she replied. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable just to satisfy my own curiosity."

She was a little surprised that he smiled at that. "Thank you," he told her. "I…That's very thoughtful of you. But if you want to ask, you're someone that I wouldn't mind sharing with."

Peggy flushed a little, but he looked too sincere to just be flattering her. "Whatever you would like to tell me," she said at last. "I'm happy to listen." For all the questions she had, given the opportunity to actually ask them, she wasn't sure where to start.

He nodded and took a moment to gather his thoughts. "I guess in some ways it's kind of expected as far as being the second son of a king goes," he said at last. "Bucky's the heir, and he's always been Dad's favorite. When we were kids, he kind of gave up on teaching me how to do things pretty quick when I'd get sick or couldn't keep up." He smiled ruefully. "I probably owe most of my royal training to Bucky, actually. He'd come back and show me what Dad had taught him. In some ways, it sort of makes sense—Bucky's going to be the next king, you know? So, he gets the, the additional training, and the attention and everything. He's got to be ready."

Peggy reached over and rested a hand on his arm, interrupting him. "Steve, please don't do that to yourself."

"Do what?"

"I am truly sorry that your father treated you like something less, but the fact that you aren't the Crown Prince doesn't mean you deserve that."

Steve smiled softly. "Thank you. And I, I know that. Most of the time. I don't know that I would if it hadn't been for Bucky."

"I have to admit," Peggy confessed. "Hearing all of what you just said, it does rather make one wonder that you and James are so close."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a moment before he caught up with her. "Oh, you mean like I should be jealous of Bucky?" he asked as if it were a truly preposterous idea.

Peggy shrugged. "It wouldn't be unprecedented. History books are filled with royal family rivalries."

Steve inclined his head in agreement. "Fair enough. But it was never like that with me and Buck," he told her. "Dad may not think much of me, but Bucky's never treated me like anything but an equal. He hates the way Dad brushes me aside." He huffed a semi-amused laugh. "That's the one thing he's never been able to get Dad to listen to him about. But he's my brother and he loves me, and I love him. It's not his fault Dad likes him better," he finished, and Peggy could see that for him, it really was as simple as that.

"I'm glad to hear that," she told him. "I didn't mean to imply it should be otherwise. I suppose I just meant that from the outside, it might seem surprising. But I've seen enough of the two of you together to know how much you mean to one another. A bond like that is something to be treasured," she said, her thoughts drifting briefly to her own, late brother.

Steve smiled. "Yeah," he agreed. He sighed. "But we were talking about Dad." He sighed again. "I'd always kind of felt like Dad was disappointed in me," he said. "And I used to think it was just because I was so small and sick all the time—maybe he just wanted another son like Bucky, someone big and strong."

"And you don't think that anymore?" Peggy wondered. It was unfair, but she could see the logic in Steve's reasoning.

There was very little humor in the smile Steve gave her. "No, I still think he's disappointed in me. Just that there's more to it than that."

Peggy waited, sensing that what Steve was working up the nerve to say was very important.

"I never met my mother, you know?" he said after a moment, surprising Peggy with the turn in the conversation. "I mean," he corrected. "I suppose I did—she died when I was three weeks old, and I imagine I was around her a lot for those three weeks. But I don't remember her."

Peggy nodded.

"I'm sure it comes as no surprise," Steve went on. "But I was born sickly. I've heard bits and pieces over the years, and I've gathered that by the time I was on my third week, I wasn't expected to last much longer."

"What happened?" Peggy wondered. Had Erskine and his healing magic saved him?

"I don't know," Steve said. "But I made it. And my mother didn't." He drew in a deep breath, then looked up at her, his blue eyes shining. "Then I talked to you. You remember you told me how magic worked, and balancing it out and everything?"

Peggy nodded.

"I think my parents made a deal with a magician to save me. And like you said earlier, big life and death stuff…If I was supposed to die from the start…"

Peggy gasped. "You think your mother's life was the price for saving you?"

Steve nodded. "I do. And I think that whoever that magician was, that they didn't tell them that. I don't know much about my mother, but I know she was the love of Father's life. He would never have sacrificed her. If he had known it was a life for a life sort of situation…I don't know, I wouldn't necessarily put it past him to have found some random person he thought wasn't important to die in my place. Maybe he would have been okay with letting me die. Or maybe he would have even volunteered himself—he could hardly have had time to dislike me at three weeks old—but he never would have agreed for it to be her."

Peggy was silent, unsure of what to do with that.

"It makes sense," Steve went on. "The day Mother died was the day magic was banned from the kingdom and the Great Purge started. And Father hates magic. It's not that he just thinks it's something dangerous, he _despises_ it."

Peggy found herself nodding. It was awful, but it _did_ make sense.

"And I think that's why," Steve said. He swallowed. "I think that's why he's had trouble ever loving me. I think he resents me for being alive when she isn't, and I think he's disappointed that she was killed for someone so…" He trailed off and gestured at himself.

"Steve," Peggy breathed sadly. "Steve, I'm so sorry."

He nodded. "Thanks," he said softly. "In a way, it kind of helps, though, knowing that."

"How?" Peggy wondered.

Steve gave her a tiny smile. "I've spent my whole life wondering what I did to make him feel that way about me," he said. "Ever since I was a little kid. I've tried so hard to prove to him that I was good enough. I always thought that if I could just find that one thing he wanted…" He shrugged. "This will probably sound weird, but it's a relief to know that I'm never going to be good enough. It was never something I did, so it's not something I can fix."

"You're right; that does sound weird," Peggy said.

Steve smiled. "It's just a load off my shoulders—I _can't_ do anything, so I don't have to keep trying. It's freeing. And I've still got plenty of other people whose minds I _can_ change about me, so I can focus my energy on the fights that will actually do me some good."

Peggy nodded, understanding what he meant. "I see what you're saying," she said. She put her hand back on his arm. "I'm still sorry, though."

Steve inclined his head in agreement. "Yeah, it still kind of sucks. But, thankfully, for as much as I've tried to please him, I haven't based my self-worth off of what my father thinks of me for a long time."

Peggy did smile at that. "That's probably wise."

He smiled back. "Thanks. And I've still got people in my corner."

"James is certainly a good ally to have," she agreed.

"So are you," Steve said, and though color was rising in his cheeks, as though he was worried he'd been too bold, he didn't break her gaze.

Peggy opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to say to that. "Thank you," she said at last. Knowing just how much he thought of his brother, being placed in that same trusted category was an honor, and while it might have been a bit forward of him to say so, Peggy found she didn't mind at all.

They sat in companionable silence for a little while, each busy with their own thoughts. "May I ask you something else?" Peggy wondered. Having processed what he thought had happened to his mother, she realized that left another question hanging rather ominously between them.

"Sure," he said.

"If, as you say, magic really is responsible for your mother's death…" She looked at him uncertainly. "That doesn't change your feelings about magic at all?"

"You mean am I suddenly on board with Dad's burn-all-the-magicians campaign?" he asked with a little smile that told Peggy what his answer was. "No. One magician killed my mom. Nobody else had anything to do with it. It would be stupid to hold one person's crime against everyone."

A little knot of tension uncoiled in Peggy's chest at the proclamation. "That's very gracious of you."

His smile widened. "Well, I might be biased," he admitted. "All the magicians I've met are pretty great."

Peggy smiled at that, though she felt a bit of heat rising in her cheeks.

That evening, Angie knocked on her door with a couple more dresses she had fixed for her. "My goodness," Peggy said, holding them up to examine them. "How many of these should I be expecting?"

"Well, you're going back to the council tomorrow, right?" Angie said, hanging the new dresses up. "Can't wear the same thing two days in a row."

Peggy laughed. "It certainly is a different mindset than in the village," she said.

"Oh, I know," Angie agreed. "But around here, how you look is just as much a part of the game as anything else." Angie turned around and gave her a thoughtful look. "Can I make a suggestion?"

"Of course," Peggy said.

"I think tomorrow, you should walk with Prince Steven all the way to the table—helping him walk like you've been doing," she said.

"Why?" Peggy wondered.

"Like I said, how you look is part of the game," Angie replied.

"That's why he walked in on his own today," Peggy pointed out.

"No, I know," Angie said, waving a hand. "But listen. Things have totally changed for tomorrow. That dust up with the Grand Duke Alexander, first of all, and then the King getting after him for it afterwards."

Peggy's eyebrows shot up. "How do you know about that?"

Angie shrugged. "Oh, everyone knows. The aides talk about what happens in the meetings, and as for afterwards…" She shrugged again, a little more uncomfortably this time. "King Uther is…not exactly a quiet man. People were around."

Peggy felt herself growing deeply embarrassed on Steve's behalf, but Angie carried on.

"Now, what he was actually yelling at Prince Steven, nobody heard too well, but it was easy enough to pick up that he didn't like that the Prince called out the Grand Duke," Angie said, and Peggy felt a bit better—the more personal nature of the confrontation still seemed to be a secret.

"Aides talk, guards talk, and servants talk, so all the council members are going to know that that happened," Angie went on. "Everybody's going to want to see how the Prince reacts."

Peggy hadn't thought of any of that, and she felt a stab of frustration for the scrutiny Steve was constantly under. It had to be exhausting. "And you think showing physical weakness is the best way to do that?" she wondered. Steve wasn't going to like that at all.

"Not showing weakness, no," Angie said. "Because you're going to help him all matter of fact-like. Neither of you are making a thing about it; you're just helping him to his chair because it's practical. He can say something if somebody asks, but otherwise, just act like it's the most natural thing in the world."

"I still fail to see how this will help," Peggy said.

Angie looked toward the door, like she was worried someone might be listening, then looked back at Peggy and lowered her voice. "Okay, here's the thing," she said. "King Uther is fine as far as kings go—I've got no complaints about living in Camelot. But he's…Well, he's not a very nice guy."

"I'd gathered that," Peggy said.

"And Prince Steven has been out of commission for a while. He's kind of got to re-establish himself."

"Right," Peggy agreed, not quite sure how these pieces joined up.

"Everyone already knows what Uther's like," Angie said. "And everyone's expecting Steven to be doing that tough-guy thing men do when they're embarrassed. So if he goes in there not afraid to admit he needs help—especially when everyone _knows_ he needs it—that's a breath of fresh air right there. That's someone who doesn't think he's better than everyone else, and that's someone who's more focused on the job he has to do than on worrying about what he looks like."

"I think I see what you're getting at," Peggy said. It might rankle Steve's pride, but Angie's suggestion would display a certain level of maturity that would make a good impression, especially if he conducted himself in the same calm and collected way he did this morning. "Do you really think it will work?"

Angie grinned. "I do. I may not be a noble, but one thing all those high and mighty boys on the council and I have in common is that they're not royalty either. I know how palace people who aren't royalty think about people who are. And palace people who aren't royalty are who he's going to have to impress."

Peggy smiled. "That's a very astute observation."

"Thanks," Angie grinned. "I'm more than just a pretty face."

Peggy laughed and Angie told her good night and left. Peggy washed up and went to bed, wrapping her braids up carefully so they wouldn't come undone and it wouldn't take as long to fix her hair in the morning.

When she went in to check on Steve the next morning, he was already awake and dressed, writing something at the table.

"Good morning," Peggy said. "You're up early."

He nodded at the parchment in front of him. "Just working on what I should say to Grand Duke Alexander this morning."

"You're not backing down, are you?" Peggy wondered.

"No," Steve said. "Just smoothing the waters a little. I suspect Dad's going to make me apologize to him, and I figure if we're going to get anything done today, I probably shouldn't go in there and call him a rat trying to drag Camelot down into the sewer with him so he'll be more comfortable living there."

Peggy snorted. "Perhaps not. Although, it is very descriptive." She cleared her throat. "Listen, about this morning…" She laid out what Angie had suggested last night, and, as she'd expected, Steve didn't seem to like it, but he gave the idea his full consideration.

"Alright," he said after thinking it over.

"Really?" Peggy said, surprised he'd agreed so readily.

"I'm not a lot like Dad, but pride does run in the family," he admitted. He scrunched up his face as if preparing for something unpleasant. "I should work on that." He opened his eyes again and looked at Peggy. "And I was sort of getting tunnel vision on how to represent myself to Dad after yesterday, but the Council is where I should be focusing." His eyebrows furrowed quizzically. "You really think this will work?"

"I think so," she said. "Angie's seen enough of palace life from that angle to know what she's talking about. I trust her." She did wonder if part of the reason he was hesitating was because the advice was coming from a servant.

He nodded. "Well, if you trust her and I trust you, then I guess that's settled." He stood up and smoothed his tunic down. "Let's go."

Peggy moved her bag to her hip and took his arm. His steps were growing steadier, and she imagined that he would be back to walking on his own again in about a week. They made it down the stairs and took a break for him to breathe before going the rest of the way to the meeting hall. Several people were already gathered there, though they hadn't started yet, and they looked up when the two of them entered.

"Is the table farther from the door than it was yesterday?" Peggy whispered.

Steve snorted softly. "Yep. Thanks, Dad." He shot a quick glance at Peggy. "Good thing you're here."

She smiled and patted his arm, thinking uncharitable thoughts about the king, and they made it to the table without any trouble. Peggy helped him into his seat and stepped away.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Steve said. "I trust you're all well this morning?"

"Well as can be expected, Your Grace," the man next to Steve said. He shot a quick glance at Peggy before looking back at Steve. "And yourself?" His voice held polite concern, but curiosity simmered under the surface, as well as in the eyes of everyone else at the table.

"Very well, thank you," Steve told him. He gave a small, self-deprecating smile. "I don't move very quickly in the mornings of late, I must admit, but I hated to delay the rest of you on my account when there was work to be done. Actually, since we have a few minutes, I was hoping to speak with you about that land reform bill you proposed yesterday to clarify a few points…" Approving nods and glances rippled around the table, and Peggy smiled and sat back as they restarted a conversation from yesterday about corn that was incredibly boring, but probably important.

The king arrived not much later, Grand Duke Alexander trailing behind him. Everyone stood until the king was seated, then Steve reached across the table to shake Alexander's hand as the rest of them sat down. "Good morning, Grand Duke," Steve said. "I wanted to apologize to you for yesterday. The law is rather a passion of mine, and I'm afraid in my attempt to correct an honest mistake, I got carried away. Please forgive my over-zealousness."

Peggy arched an eyebrow, impressed. She'd seen enough of court politics to know it was a game she was loathe to play, but that had been quite the move. By apologizing before being forced to do so by his father, Steve had removed any insinuation that he was a child who needed reminding of how to act in polite company. Referring to the Grand Duke's earlier argument as an 'honest mistake' allowed Alexander to save face in the whole affair, while effectively ending the discussion at the same time. Any attempts to change the narrative would make Alexander look defensive and foolish. "Oh, well done, Steve," she whispered. The murmurs circling the council table seemed to agree with her.

"No harm was done, Your Grace," Alexander replied, the pained smile of a man backed into a corner on his face. "Think nothing of it."

"You are too gracious, Grand Duke. I thank you," Steve said with a smile. He settled back into his seat. The look the king was giving him told Peggy he knew exactly what his son was doing and wasn't happy about it, but there wasn't really anything he could do about it but nod and start the meeting.

The meeting continued much as it had yesterday, the discussion about the land reform bill and corn playing a chief role. Peggy had never expected corn to be interesting, but even so, she was having trouble staying awake until a very familiar coughing roused her from her lethargy.

Conversation around the table was quieting as Steve's coughing continued. Peggy jumped up and rushed to the table, murmuring her apologies to the man seated beside Steve, who backed out of her way. She pulled a bottle and small glass from her bag and gave it to Steve to drink, and the coughing stopped almost at once.

"Thank you," Steve told her, then he cleared his throat and turned back to the rest of the table. "I apologize for interrupting, gentlemen," he said. "Lord Edwards, please continue with what you were saying about the irrigation problem in the valley."

Just like that, they were back on course, Steve clearly having taken Angie's suggestion of playing everything matter-of-factly to heart. Peggy sat back down, making a mental note to run a diagnostic spell of Steve's chest again when they were back in his room. His cough ought not to be returning, and while it was likely the presence of all the dusty rolls of parchment on the table that had triggered the coughing spell, she couldn't be too careful.

The meeting adjourned before lunch. As Peggy and Steve were leaving the hall, one of the younger council members stopped them. After apologizing for interrupting and for what he hoped wasn't going to be an impertinent request, he finally got around to his question. He'd been impressed with the way Peggy's medicine had stopped Steve's cough so quickly, and he had a daughter at home who had been suffering from a cough for some time.

"If it would be permitted for me to ask the good lady, Sire…" he finally said.

"Of course," Steve said. He caught himself. "That is, if it's alright with her."

"I would be happy to mix something up for the child," Peggy said. "Come by this afternoon and I will have something ready."

He thanked her, apologized again for interrupting, and left.

"Is that alright with you?" Peggy asked Steve when they started walking again. "I know I was hired to take care of you, not the whole castle, but it won't take long to put the mixture together."

"No, it's fine," Steve said, waving her worry away. "I just didn't want to speak for you when he asked."

"I appreciate that," Peggy said with a smile. "Are you feeling alright? I wasn't expecting you to start coughing like that."

"I think it was just the dust," he said. "But you're welcome to check when we get back to the room."

"I will," she said, and once they were settled back in, she did so. It seemed to have been just a result of the dust, so she called a servant and ordered him some lunch.

"When do I get to order my own meals?" he wondered after the food arrived.

Peggy laughed. "Once you've put on a bit more weight," she told him. "I don't quite trust you yet to eat enough if left to your own devices," she added, taking a bite of her own food.

He laughed at that but didn't argue, and they spent lunch talking about the morning before she left him alone to rest. It had gone well, they both thought, and though Steve hadn't enjoyed letting people see he needed help, he agreed that Angie had been right about it.

Peggy mixed up the cough remedy for the little girl while Steve was sleeping. The councilman insisted on paying her for it when he came to fetch it, which she accepted though she hadn't been expecting it.

"Well, sure," Steve told her when they were walking later. "Technically, you were only hired to take care of me. Anything else would be extra. It's nice of you to be willing to help, but you should be paid for your work." He paused thoughtfully. "Speaking of which, I think Bucky is supposed to pay you for what you've been doing with me when he gets back. Dad put him in charge of paying the staff a couple of years ago, and he usually does it at the end of the month. Is that okay? I should have asked earlier if you needed money before that."

"The end of the month is perfectly fine," Peggy said. Having her meals and lodging taken care of meant she had very little in the way of urgent expenses to worry about.

They walked a bit more, and after an early supper, Steve went to bed, tired from another long day. He was getting frustrated with being so easily tired, which Peggy assured him was a good thing—his body was getting ready to operate at its earlier, healthier stamina instead of capitulating to his illness and sleeping all the time. His mind was just ready faster than his body was. She also pointed out that he was sleeping less throughout the day than he had been when she arrived, which he conceded, and that seemed to cheer him a little.

The next two days were free of meetings, so they spent more time walking and sitting in the garden. Peggy told him about the medicinal purposes of the different plants that grew there, and Steve taught her how to play chess. She was terrible at it, but she appreciated the strategy of it.

There were another couple of days of council meetings, some quiet days, and another day or two of meetings. Peggy was still attending the meetings with Steve, though he seemed to be needing her help less. He'd started the beginning of one of his _asthmaíno_ attacks during one of the meetings, but he took the sachet she had made for him and held it up to his nose, breathing deeply, and the attack abated. She was pleased that it worked so well, and that he seemed to be breathing easier in general. His stamina was increasing too, her regular checks showing that with the tonic she'd had him taking, his heart seemed to be gaining strength. And he was walking on his own now. He still tired quicker than he liked, and he was still too thin, but he was improving in leaps and bounds.

One morning, Peggy came in to do her usual checks and found he was already up and dressed. "Are you going somewhere?" she asked, after satisfying herself that everything was in order. He seemed to be dressed for the outdoors, in boots and plainer clothes, and was fastening a cloak around his neck.

"I'm going riding," he told her. "I have the whole day free, and it's the first time I've felt up for it."

"Riding?" she asked. "Isn't that a bit strenuous?" While he _was_ getting better, Peggy didn't know if he was up for that much exertion yet.

"The horse is the one doing all the work," he told her with a smile.

"Cheeky," she replied. "You know what I mean."

"If you're worried I might collapse or something, I guess you'll just have to come too," he said, still smiling.

A day outside the castle did sound nice. "I'm afraid I don't know how to ride," Peggy said.

Steve shrugged. "We're both pretty light. My horse can handle us both. What do you say?"

"It sounds lovely," Peggy said. "Though perhaps I should change first. I'll meet you in the stables."

Peggy returned to her room, thinking one of her old dresses might be suitable for riding in. Angie was there, tidying up, and she squeaked in delight when Peggy told her what she was doing. "Oh, no, you can't wear that old thing," Angie told her, snatching the dress out of Peggy's hand. "Here." She dug through the wardrobe and pulled something out. "I went ahead and made you a riding dress just in case."

The dress she was holding out was a dark green, thicker in the skirt to protect her legs from briars and sticks, and of a thinner, looser material on top to allow for more freedom of movement. Of course, like everything Angie had sewn for her, it fit like a glove.

"This is lovely, Angie," Peggy told her. "But why did you think I would need a riding dress?"

"I wanted to have you prepared for everything," she said, unfurling a rich brown cloak to accompany the dress. "And Prince Steven loves to ride. It seemed only natural that you'd be going."

Peggy nodded in agreement. "I suppose. I'm not sure he's quite ready for exercise that strenuous on his own."

"Uh huh," Angie said. " _That_ 's why he invited you."

Peggy turned around, halfway through fastening the cloak. "And what does that mean?"

Angie was smirking. "Nothing."

"Rubbish."

Angie laughed. "Honey, I'm just calling it like I see it." She refused to say more, and Peggy sighed, changed into a pair of sturdier shoes, and left for the stables.

* * *

_What's this? We've reached the end with no declaration of love? Nope; because it's not the end yet! This one got pretty long, so I decided to split it. Tune in next week to see where it goes!_


	7. Forbidden Magic: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here we go! Part Two. Time to ride horses and see where things go.

* * *

Though Peggy didn't know how to ride a horse—she'd never been able to afford one—the smell of the stables and straw was a common one in the village and something familiar to her. The stable itself was large, cool and shaded. She stepped inside, peering around a row of stalls to see if she could find Steve.

"Oh, there's my gorgeous girl," he said from somewhere off to her left and she jumped, feeling incredibly flustered until she finally spotted him and realized he was talking to a horse. "Hello, beautiful," he said, stepping forward and stroking the sleek black nose that poked out over the door of a stall. "Did you miss me?"

The horse in question made a soft nickering sound and nuzzled at his ear. He laughed and leaned into the motion, patting its nose. "I missed you too. Have they been taking good care of you?" He opened the door to move closer to the horse, and Peggy stepped forward. She watched him for a minute as he looked over the horse and patted its sides. Though the horse seemed to tower over him, he seemed very much at ease.

"Hello," Peggy said. The horse snorted, and Steve looked up and smiled.

"Oh, hi, Peggy," he said. He patted the horse's back. "Be nice," he told it. "This is Onyx," he said, turning back to Peggy. "Come on over and say hello."

Peggy stepped closer, eyeing the large horse carefully. It was big but sleek, a cool, silky black color all over except for a white patch between the eyes and above each of the hooves. Onyx seemed to be evaluating Peggy as well.

Steve chuckled, watching them eye each other up. "She's just protective," Steve said. He reached into a satchel on his hip and pulled out an apple. "Here, give her this."

He handed Peggy the apple, and she stepped forward and offered it to Onyx. The horse's skepticism vanished at once and she arched her neck forward and snapped up the apple, deftly avoiding nipping Peggy's fingers as well. She crunched happily on the fruit, then made the same soft nickering noise she had made earlier.

"See?" Steve said with a smile. "She's really just a big softie. You said you didn't know how to ride; would you like to learn how to put on a saddle?"

Onyx stood still as Steve saddled her and put her bridle on, talking Peggy through the process and showing her which straps to fasten. He clambered up onto the horse fairly gracefully in spite of the size difference, then leaned down and held out a hand to Peggy. She took his hand and let him help her up, grateful that he said nothing about the way she got her feet tangled in her skirts.

Steve looked back over his shoulder as she tried to position herself on the saddle so that she wouldn't fall off. "You should probably hold on to me," he told her. "We'll go slow, but I'd hate for you to fall."

A little uncertainly, Peggy put her arms around his waist. He shifted a little and adjusted her hands so that she had a better grip, then gave the reins a twitch. Instinctively, Peggy tightened her grip on Steve when they started to move.

They trotted out of the stables and towards the back gates, Steve waving and calling out a greeting to the stable boys and gardeners they passed. Peggy would have done the same, but she didn't think letting go of Steve would be a good idea. The back gate didn't pass through the town, just followed a dirt path out to the road that headed into the country. Onyx picked up speed a little bit when they hit the road, which was fine until it started edging towards a gallop. Steve didn't say anything, but he must have sensed the tension in Peggy's muscles, and he slowed them down.

Once Peggy was sure she wasn't going to fall, she started to enjoy the ride. It was a lovely day, warm and clear, with enough of a breeze to keep it from getting too hot. They rode along the road for a while, then off into a grassy field, crossing a couple of streams. Steve spoke occasionally to Onyx, but it was an otherwise quiet ride, each of them enjoying the view and simply being outside.

They headed into a wooded area, and, following a path Peggy couldn't see but with which Steve was evidently familiar, they soon arrived in a grassy clearing with a small pond. Steve brought Onyx to a gentle stop, then slid down to the ground to help Peggy off the horse. "Were you okay back there?" he asked. He flushed a little. "I've never ridden on a horse with anyone else once I got big enough to ride on my own, but I realized about halfway through the ride that when Bucky rides with a girl, he lets them sit in front. You probably wouldn't have felt as much like you might fall off if we had done that."

"No, I was alright," Peggy assured him. "I just had to get used to the rhythm of the horse. It was a very smooth ride." She did not point out that her sitting in front might have made things more challenging—Steve was not significantly shorter than her, but had she been sat in front of him, he would have needed to strain his neck up to get a clear view of the road over her shoulder. She suspected that part of his blush came from the fact that he already knew that and was somewhat embarrassed that his stature had prevented him from being as gentlemanly as he otherwise would have been.

"This is a lovely spot," she went on. "Do you come here often?"

Steve smiled. "Yeah," he said, loosening Onyx's saddle. "It's one of my favorite spots." He nodded at the tree on the other side of the pond. "I like to sit over there and read or think. And Bucky and I used to climb up there and jump into the pond," he added with another nod, this time in the direction of the branch overhanging the water.

"Well, thank you for sharing it with me," she told him. He sat down in the grass and she dropped down beside him. Onyx snorted and wandered a short distance away to nibble at a bush. "How are you feeling after the ride?" she asked.

"A little tired," Steve admitted. "But not as much as I thought I would."

Peggy nodded. "Well, a nap here in the sunshine certainly falls onto the list of approved treatments," she told him.

He laughed. "Thank you for your permission, Doctor," he said with a grin. He stretched his arms out behind him and leaned back on his hands. "So, now that you've been an official royal healer for a while, how is it treating you?" he asked. "Living in Camelot and all that?"

"I haven't really seen much of Camelot," Peggy said. "But I'm enjoying my work very much."

Steve winced apologetically. "Sorry—keeping an eye on me would keep you inside most of the time. If you'd like, we can ride back through town on the way back so you can see it."

"I would like that," Peggy said. "And I really don't mind that looking after you has kept me indoors. As I said, it's not a bad job. And living in the palace is certainly different from my life back home."

"How so?" Steve wondered. "I mean, I imagine it would be, I just don't know a lot about your village."

They had talked some about her home before, but now that she'd been around the palace long enough, she was able to give him more of a comparison. Despite the fact that the palace was a far grander setting than her hut, it was really the people who were the most different. They did different things and spoke and acted in different ways, which had taken some getting used to. Different things seemed to be important here, and people looked at things in ways she wasn't accustomed to. But in the end, they were all still people, and for all the differences, she was starting to see similarities now too.

She told him about how certain people in Camelot reminded her of people back home—the duke who had the same way of moving as the blacksmith, which made Peggy suspect that he also had arthritis; the lord's aide who paid very little attention to his master during council meetings and very much attention to the serving girl who was often sat a few seats over, very much like the butcher's assistant who often handed out the wrong cuts of meat when a particular milk maid was anywhere nearby; or the castle cook, who was skeptical of Peggy's requests for the omission or addition of certain menu items for Steve, which reminded her of the old seamstress who lived next door to her who never appreciated any suggestion that a method other than the one she had used for seventy years might be acceptable.

Somehow, the conversation came around to her family. Peggy didn't usually talk about her family with people, and she was already part of the way into the conversation before she realized that was what she was doing.

"I kind of hate to ask," Steve said when she stopped. "But I noticed you keep talking about them all in the past tense. Are they…"

Peggy nodded. "They're dead," she confirmed.

"I'm sorry," Steve said.

"Thank you," she said. "It…My parents, that was a long time ago. I don't actually remember them, beyond what my brother told me. They died in the beginning of the Great Purge."

"They were magicians?" Steve asked.

She nodded. "Michael, he…That was five years ago. It's been a while, but still…" It was still painful to dwell on. "He was a magician too, and he got caught." She sighed heavily. "I tried to get him out; I didn't care if it ended up exposing me too and we had to go on the run. He wouldn't have it, though," she said. "He said it was his own fault he got caught, and he didn't want me ruining my life for his sake. Of course, that wasn't going to stop me, and he knew that. But they moved his execution up, and he died before I could…" She stopped, swallowing down a knot in her throat. "I've always wondered if he didn't do something, something he knew would make them angry enough to move his execution forward so that I wouldn't have time to help. If that was his way of keeping me safe," she whispered.

She was staring at her feet, and after a second, she felt a tentative but gentle arm slide over her shoulders. "I'm so sorry, Peggy," Steve said softly.

She nodded. After a couple of minutes, she looked up, having regained her composure. "You're the first person I've told that to," she said.

Steve smiled sadly. "I'm honored that you felt like you could." He pulled his arm away and sat back, looking down at the ground. "And I've always thought that you were kind, but you're a far bigger person than I've been giving you credit for."

Peggy arched a puzzled eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

He shot an embarrassed look up at her. "You would have had every right to refuse to help me after what my family has done to yours. It was my father's decree that got your parents and your brother killed. And it was my mother dying to save me that made him make that decree in the first place, so you could even say it was my fault. But here you are."

He was looking down at the ground again, and Peggy reached over and slipped a hand over his, making him look up at her in surprise. "I will admit that I do blame your father for my parents' deaths, and my brother's as well, even though he wasn't directly the one to kill him. And, the more I learn about your father, the less I like him. But your father didn't really factor in to my decision to come here," she said. She smiled. "That was mostly the money."

Steve smiled at that.

"There was also how sincere your brother was in his concern about you," she went on. "I couldn't in good conscience have turned down such a desperate request for help. And then once I got here…" She squeezed his hand. "You're nothing like your father, Steve. I can't recall having met a kinder, gentler soul, and you are in no way to blame for how other people reacted to the events around you when you were three weeks old. I sincerely enjoy your company, and I'm very happy to call you my friend. So, here I am."

He was staring at her with wide eyes, and she noticed for the first time how long and soft his eyelashes were above the shining blue. He blinked slowly, his mouth hanging slightly open, and her eyes were drawn to his lips, and she had never really appreciated before just how lovely they were. They stared at one another, frozen in time for a long second before a bird flew out of the bushes and startled Onyx, making the horse snort and jump. They both jumped back, and Peggy felt her cheeks flushing.

"Thanks," Steve said a little awkwardly. "I…uh…thanks." He smiled sheepishly. "I'm glad you're my friend too." He stood up and walked over to Onyx, who had calmed down but was glaring angrily at the bush. He patted her flank and stroked her neck, and that seemed to mollify her. "Would you like some lunch?" he asked, unhooking a bag that had been tied to the saddle. "I wasn't in a hurry to rush back to the castle, so I thought I'd bring something." He walked back over with the bag and sat down again. "Hopefully the contents of the meal are up to my doctor's specifications," he added with a grin.

They ate lunch and the conversation lightened. Peggy was not as embarrassed as she would have thought after sharing what she had about her family—there was something about Steve that not only invited such confidence, but that made her feel it was safe to do so. She _was_ embarrassed about the fact that she kept dropping her eyes down to stare at his lips, but she didn't think he noticed.

They chatted for a little while before Steve started to yawn, and Peggy assured him she would not be offended if he were to stretch out in the sun and have a bit of a sleep. She sat there for a bit, just listening to the birds and watching the butterflies flit around the bushes before she drifted off herself.

She was alone when she woke up. Steve had woken up before her, and was standing over on the other side of the pond with Onyx. Her saddle was off and she was enjoying a leisurely roll in the grass. Peggy smiled and stood up, brushing the grass from her skirts. "Looks as though she's enjoying herself," she said.

"Oh, yeah," Steve agreed. "I always have to let her do this before she'll go back to town."

They stood there until Onyx had thoroughly finished her rolling, then Peggy helped Steve saddle her up again. "Hang on a moment," Peggy said, after Steve helped her up onto the horse. "I'm afraid this isn't going to be very ladylike, but…" She fussed with her skirts and her legs for a moment until she was able to get one leg up and over the horse instead of sitting side-saddle. She was showing a bit of leg now, but she felt much more secure in her position. "I think I'm less likely to worry about falling off now."

Steve looked back, blushed adorably at the sight of her bare calf, then nodded and turned around to get the horse moving again. They went a bit faster this time, and Peggy was able to enjoy the ride more. Steve slowed down as they approached the road that led to the front gates and into town, and Peggy shifted so that she was sitting properly again and rearranged her skirts to cover her legs—it was a slow enough pace she could stay on, and she didn't want to cause a scandal.

Instead of taking the direct path back to the castle, Steve steered Onyx through some of the main streets, pointing out places of interest in the town, and calling out friendly greetings to the people who waved at him. They wended their way back to the castle, and Steve waved off the approaching page with a smile and took Onyx back to the stable himself. He removed her saddle and showed Peggy how to brush her down, then they spent a few moments feeding Onyx apples from a large bin by the corner.

"She's a lovely horse," Peggy told him.

"She is," Steve agreed. He smiled. "She's a little big for me, but she's gentle."

"She is rather large," Peggy said. "How did she come to be yours?" she wondered. She would have thought Steve would have a smaller horse that was easier to get onto and control, although he was right that Onyx didn't seem inclined to use her size to fight him.

Steve laughed. "She was a lot smaller when Bucky gave her to me. Nobody had any idea she was going to get so big, but, you know…" He shrugged and stroked the horse's nose. "She grew up with me, so she's used to me and she trusts me." He kissed her nose and patted it gently. "That's my good girl," he said.

When they got back inside, Peggy ran her usual diagnostic spells to make sure he hadn't over-extended himself while they'd been out. He was tired but well, and Peggy was pleased with how well he'd been responding to the medicine she'd been giving him for his heart and to strengthen his lungs.

"You know, my heart feels better even than it used to when I wasn't sick," Steve said after she told him as much. "It doesn't feel like it's straining as much, and I haven't felt it fluttering in a long time." He smiled at her. "I don't know if I've actually thanked you for that."

"You don't have to," Peggy told him.

"Yes, I do," he said. "You…Peggy, you're amazing. I know I have a little way to go yet, but I'm still having trouble thinking of a time I've ever felt better. Thank you." He took her hand and squeezed it warmly. "Thank you."

Peggy smiled, feeling a lump of emotion in her throat at the sincerity in his eyes. "You're welcome, Steve," she said. "I'm glad I can help."

He held onto her hand for a moment longer, looking as though he wanted to say something else, but he just smiled and squeezed her hand again and let go.

The next couple of days were uneventful. Peggy did start to wonder if she needed to keep attending the council meetings with Steve, but once or twice the dusty old sheets of parchment still gave him a coughing fit. The other council members seemed to have noticed, and had gotten into the habit of keeping the sheets at the other end of the table, or shaking them out a few paces away when they unfurled them. (Except for the Grand Duke Alexander, who Peggy suspected was enjoying dropping the dust-covered folios dramatically onto the table in front of him when he sat down across from Steve.)

There had also been a couple of days off from work, which Steve had used to show her around the palace and to take her into the city and show her around there. They walked through the marketplace, and he took her to the pub that James and several of the knights frequented. He wasn't much of a drinker himself, but he swore that Briony, the tavern owner, made the best apple tarts in the kingdom. He'd tried many times to offer her a job in the palace, to no avail.

"Well," Peggy said, as they sat at a table in the corner. "You're right about the tarts. These are divine."

"Aren't they?" Steve agreed, already on his second.

Peggy laughed. "I should have been ordering these for you a couple of weeks ago when I couldn't get you to eat. Does she deliver?"

Steve laughed and snorted and almost choked on a piece of crust.

"Can I ask you something?" Peggy asked after a moment.

"Sure," Steve said.

Peggy bit her lower lip. "This has been bothering me since yesterday. I sort of feel it isn't my place to say, because you're the prince, and I'm nothing near to royalty, but…"

"Peggy," Steve told her. "It's fine. Whatever you're trying to say, you can say it."

Peggy smiled. "I do know you well enough to know you won't have me flogged for impertinence; I just don't want to overstep."

"What is it?"

"Yesterday in the council meeting, there was this long discussion about the difficulty in collecting end of year taxes, because people were always late, and difficult to track down, and so forth," she said.

Steve nodded. "I remember."

"And while I think the idea of basing them on a person's income instead of a flat rate is a brilliant idea, I think you're going about the means of collecting it all wrong." The answer to the problem had seemed obvious to her, but it had taken her some time to realize why it hadn't occurred to anyone on the council.

"How so?" Steve asked curiously.

"No one on the council has ever lived in a village, have they?"

Steve smiled, but his cheeks colored a little. "No."

"September is the worst possible time of year to try to collect taxes," she told him. "Depending on how the weather goes, it's either the beginning or the middle of harvest time, and everyone is incredibly busy. Everyone is also down to their last coins until they can sell the aforementioned harvest, and when given the choice between taxes and dinner, dinner is always going to win. There also tends to be more of a financial strain on families during harvest time, since that's when more than half of all the babies in the village are born, so there's an additional expense on top of being low on money to start with."

"I was following you until the baby thing," Steve said. "I mean, I get why they add expenses, but what does harvest season have to do with there being so many babies?"

Peggy smirked. "Well, there's not a lot to do in the villages in the winter when it's so cold and gets dark so early. Harvest season is about nine months later, so…"

Steve looked confused for a moment longer before turning what was quite frankly an adorable shade of red. "Oh," he said. "Okay. Right."

"So, September is not really a good time, finance-wise," she continued, taking pity on him and putting the conversation back on track. "I think if you moved the collection date to November, you'd have far less trouble."

Steve was nodding. "That makes sense. Gives things time to slow down."

"And I've been paying attention during the meetings—mostly—and since I recall someone saying the budget isn't even put together until January, a November collection doesn't mess anything up," she finished.

Steve chuckled at her 'mostly' amendment, but he seemed to be giving the rest of her proposal some serious consideration. "That's a really good idea," he said at last. "I hadn't even thought of all of that stuff you mentioned, but once you lay it out there, it seems foolish not to take it into account." A mischievous grin tugged up one side of his mouth. "Even for those who wouldn't be as worried about the humanitarian side of things, you could sell it on how much easier it would be to get the money."

Peggy smiled back, pleased and a little surprised that he had listened, though she wasn't sure why. Steve had disagreed with her before—usually on things he did or didn't want to do regarding his healthcare—but she had yet to see him dismiss her input out of hand.

Steve smiled. "That's really…I'm going to bring that up in the next meeting. Thank you," he told her.

For some reason, Peggy found herself feeling suddenly shy. "It was just something I thought would be worth pointing out."

"It was," Steve affirmed. "Actually, there's probably some other stuff I should ask you about later. That kind of perspective is something I think the council could use more of." He blushed a little. "None of us know to think that way."

Peggy smiled. "I'd be happy to help."

It was a couple of days later that James and his knights returned from their negotiations. It had been a successful trip, and there was much ado and fanfare about the whole affair. Peggy accompanied Steve to the hall to meet him, though she stood to the side with the aides and courtiers. James gave his report, and though he remained professional, Peggy caught him shooting several surprised glances at Steve, who was standing to the king's left. The king was grinning broadly, stepping forward to clap James heartily on the back when he was done and announcing to everyone that there would be a feast tonight to celebrate his son's success and return.

When the crowd finally began to disperse, James stepped up the steps and closer to Steve, looking him up and down like he couldn't believe it. "Look at you!" he declared. "You look great! You're all…standing up and breathing and everything!" He hugged him tightly, then stepped back to take a look at him, leaving his hands on his shoulders. "And I don't feel like I'm hugging a bag of sticks this time. Have you actually put on weight?"

Steve laughed. "Yes, I have. This doctor you hired for me keeps forcing me to eat. You know she's making me eat three meals a day now?"

James laughed and hugged his brother again. "Oh, it's good to see you," he said.

"You too, Buck," Steve replied, hugging him back.

"And I was hoping you'd be doing better by the time I got back, but I was never expecting this," James went on. James turned away from Steve and scanned the room, his eyes lighting up when he saw Peggy walking toward them. "You!" he said, pointing at her and grinning broadly. "You are amazing."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Peggy said with a smile.

"She's more than amazing," Steve put in. He gestured at his chest. "Feel my heart."

James placed a hand on Steve's chest, concentrating for a moment, then turned back to Peggy with an amazed smile on his face. "Oh, I could kiss you," he said. He moved forward like he was going to hug her, then caught himself. "Thank you," he told her sincerely. "You…Thank you."

"I've been very happy to help, Sire," she said with a smile. "Though I couldn't have done it had your brother not been such a fighter. He's terribly stubborn." Having treated him for this long and seeing how sick he _should_ have been, Peggy was convinced part of the reason Steve was still alive was because someone had told him he was supposed to die and he decided to prove them wrong.

James laughed. "Oh, she knows you well, Stevie." He threw an arm over his brother's shoulders. "C'mon. Tell me how you've been." He steered him toward the door.

"You really are some sort of miracle worker, aren't you?" laughed a deep voice from behind Peggy. She turned to see one of the knights watching the brothers walk away. He was a very large man, and between that and the unruly mustache, Peggy imagined this was Dugan. He was massive and rather intimidating, but he flashed her a charming smile. "I've never seen the kid look so good."

"Known him for a while, have you?" Peggy wondered.

"Oh, yeah," Dugan replied. "I've been training with James since he was big enough to hold a sword. Steve was always around somewhere. You were right about calling him stubborn," he added with a chuckle. "I woulda thought he'd have died about a hundred times by now. But he keeps hanging in there." A thought occurred to him and he held out a hand. "Oh, I'm Dugan, by the way."

"Peggy," Peggy replied with a smile, taking the offered hand.

"My lady," he said with another charming smile, bringing her hand to his lips for a quick kiss.

"Is your shoulder bothering you?" Peggy wondered, noticing the way he moved as he lifted his arm.

"Oh, took a bad tumble off my horse on the way back," he said, not sounding concerned. "I'm not exactly graceful on the thing, and some rabbit ran out into the road and scared it. It'll be fine in a couple of days."

"Would you like me to have a look?"

He arched an amused eyebrow. "Being treated by the prince's personal physician? Not every day a fellow gets an offer like that. Sure."

Peggy took him up to Erskine's quarters, thinking it might not be appropriate to take him to hers. He was big enough that even sat on a stool, she didn't have to reach down to examine his shoulder. It was easy to work out the trouble, and Erskine had the materials she needed to mix up a quick ointment for him to take.

"You'll rub it into your shoulder like this," she said, demonstrating. She used the opportunity to slip just a bit of magic into the motion—just enough to pull the torn ligament back together and let the rest of it heal naturally. "Once in the morning and once before bed. Give it time to dry before putting your shirt on—that way it can soak into the muscles."

Dugan nodded, moving his shoulder experimentally. "It feels better already. Thank you, my lady," he said, standing up with a grin.

"Call me Peggy."

"Thank you, Peggy."

When she got back down to her quarters, Angie was waiting for her, looking frazzled. "There you are!" she declared. She grabbed Peggy's arm and yanked her inside, kicking the doors shut behind her.

"What's happened?" Peggy wondered.

"Hurry," Angie ordered, not answering the question and shoving her toward the room to the side with the tub. "The water should still be hot."

"Angie, what are you doing?" Peggy asked.

"Trying to get you ready in time," Angie replied, starting to undo the buttons on the back of Peggy's dress.

Peggy slapped her hand away. "Ready for what?"

"For what?" Angie huffed, exasperated. "For dinner! You can't go looking like that!"

"Why can't I eat dinner like this?"

Angie put her hands on her hips. "You're not going to the hall in your work clothes."

"The hall?"

"Yeah. The hall. As in, the Great Hall," Angie said. "As in, you're going to the feast tonight. _That_ hall."

"I'm going to the feast?" This was the first Peggy was hearing of it.

"Yes. So get in the tub!"

Peggy did so, and Angie seemed more inclined to explain after Peggy started cooperating.

"The princes came by looking for you while you were gone," Angie said from the other side of the screen around the tub. Peggy wasn't sure what she was doing, but she was making an awful racket. "They wanted to invite you to the feast tonight."

"Oh," Peggy said. "That was very kind of them. I suppose it might be a good idea for me to be there to keep an eye on Prince Steven." She didn't think it was normal for someone of her station to be invited to something like that, but she imagined it was like the council meetings and she shouldn't be too far away.

Angie poked her head around the screen. The eyebrow she was shooting Peggy was both exasperated and amused. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you," she said. "You weren't invited to work; you were invited as a guest. So wash your hair." She disappeared around the screen again.

When Peggy was done, there was an absolutely stunning dress flung over the top of the screen waiting for her. "Oh," Peggy breathed, running a hand over the material. "Angie, this is _gorgeous_. Is this silk?"

"Yep," Angie said.

Peggy was almost afraid to put it on, it was so nice. The body of the dress was a deep, soft red. At the shoulders, it changed to a whitish gold all the way down the sleeves, but there was a second layer of shimmery, sheer red that went over the sleeves and across the back, clipping into place just under her chest with a gold belt. The gold sleeves were fitted to the wrist, and the red ones were loose and flowy. It was the softest thing Peggy had ever worn.

She stepped out from behind the screen a little uncertainly. "Oh, honey," Angie said. "Wow."

"You don't think it's a bit…" The dress was more fitted than Peggy was used to wearing, and it was cut lower than she was accustomed to. Not scandalously so, but Peggy was rather gifted in that area. Between the cut of the dress, the gold floral pattern embroidered across the chest and the belt that clipped just beneath it, she felt as though she was drawing a lot of attention to the area.

"Oh, trust me, this is conservative," Angie told her. "You'll see when you get there. Lots of the ladies in the court like to use feasts and such to show off their best assets, but not in a classy way, like this dress. I'm not one to gossip," she continued, and Peggy just managed to contain a snort. "But last feast, the Countess of Northmarsh?" Angie shook her head. "The woman brought enough cleavage for the whole room. You'll be fine in this. Now sit," she said, indicating the stool in front of the mirror.

Peggy did so. She studied her appearance as Angie did things with her hair, and she had to admit, she looked good. And Angie had yet to lead her astray so far, so she would trust her as far as the dress went.

It took Angie quite a long time to do Peggy's hair. She first brushed it out with copious amounts of lavender water, then worked some sort of cream through it before getting down to actually styling anything. The twisted braids she'd been doing for the council meetings only looked complicated, but this actually _was_ complicated. There were curls and tiny braids and lots of twisting and pinning and tucking. "There!" Angie declared at last. She had pulled Peggy's hair back into a tightly fastened knot that rested to the back of her head, with little braids running back towards it and wrapping around it, and then it all spilled down towards her shoulders in soft curls. She stuck a small gold pin into the knot, then stepped back to critique her handiwork. "Beautiful."

"Angie, that is lovely," Peggy said, trying to get a better look at the side without moving her head too much.

"Oh, go ahead and move," Angie said. "The way I pinned it, that thing's not coming down."

Peggy shook her head, carefully at first, and then a bit more vigorously. She smiled. "You must teach me your secrets."

Angie laughed. There was a knock at the door and her eyes widened. "That's the prince! Quick! Shoes! Over there!" She pointed to a gold pair of shoes by the screen and hurried to the door.

"The prince is here?" Peggy asked, putting on the shoes.

Angie rolled her eyes. "Yeah. He's here to escort you."

"Why? I know the way to the hall." She supposed it was good manners, but it seemed unnecessary.

Angie stopped by the door as if she wanted to thump her head into it. "You are so hopeless," she muttered to herself. She shook her head and pulled the door open part of the way. "Good evening, Your Highness."

"Hello, Angie," Steve's voice said from the other side of the door. "Is Peggy ready?"

Angie shot a quick look behind her. "She is," she said, opening the door a little wider and stepping out of the way as Peggy stepped forward.

Steve was standing there looking more royal than she'd ever seen him. He was wearing fitted black trousers, with dark leather boots up to the knee. Hanging down to mid-thigh was a shirt of chain mail, shining silver in the light. It was cinched with a rich leather belt, with the sleeves of a rich red tunic showing where the chain mail stopped at his elbows. Over the top of it all was a vibrant red cape with a gold dragon on the back, fastened at the shoulders with two intricately carved gold pendants shaped like dragons. Resting on top of his hair was a simple gold circlet, with rubies set into it in intervals around the middle.

"Hi, Peggy," Steve greeted. "I—" He stopped speaking as his eyes landed on her, his mouth dropping open. Somewhere out of sight, Angie giggled.

Peggy felt inexplicably shy as he stared, a pleased blush creeping across her cheeks.

"You, ah," Steve finally stammered, finding his tongue at last. "I mean, you look…" He waved a hand in her general direction. "That's really…"

Angie giggled again, and Peggy shot a scowl in the direction of the noise before sweeping forward to the door. "I hope the ends of those sentences are good," she said with a teasing smile.

"They are," Steve said earnestly. "I don't remember any words, but you look amazing."

Peggy's blush grew, as did her smile. "Thank you," she said softly, touched at his sincerity. She offered him her arm, and he seemed to remember what he was doing and reached over to take it. "You look very dashing yourself," she told him.

He blushed deeply, but he smiled. "Thanks."

They joined the flow of people moving into the Great Hall. The room was brightly lit with cheerful torches burning along all the windows and glinting off the stained glass. Three long tables were set up in a 'U' shape, with three ornate chairs at the middle one that were clearly for Uther and his sons, with other, less lavish seats for the honored guests. The wall behind the three ornate chairs was hung with shields and tapestries bearing the Pendragon family crest, the ever-present gold dragon. The tables were set to overflowing with food and wine, and Peggy wondered idly how many people it took to put together such an event on short notice.

Various lords and ladies were bustling about. Peggy could see what Angie had meant about her dress being conservative—the room around her was filled with ladies in gorgeous gowns, enough of them matching the cut of Peggy's for her not to feel out of place, but enough with plunging necklines and daring cutouts that she couldn't help gawking a little at seeing so much skin in such a formal setting. The diners mingled and made their way to their seats, and Peggy realized that seats were taken according to what appeared to be very strict guidelines. She had no idea what they were. "Steve, I don't know where I'm supposed to sit," she said quietly.

He chuckled. "Yeah, this right here is a whole political minefield," he said with a wave at the tables. "Lucky for you, you've got a guide to show you where to go," he told her with a smile. "You're going to be at the High Table with me."

Peggy's mouth dropped open. "I am?"

"You're my guest," he said. He smirked a little bit. "And I don't think you've quite grasped just how esteemed a position the prince's personal physician actually is. Especially a successful prince's personal physician."

"Really?" Peggy asked, a little skeptical. "Is that why people keep calling me 'my lady'?"

"That's why," Steve agreed, still chuckling. "Here," he said, stopping at one of the chairs and pulling it out for her. "Now, for all of that, I couldn't swing getting you the seat next to me," he added apologetically. "I think you'll have to have been around longer for that. I mean, if you want to be around longer," he added, sounding unsure if he'd misstepped. "We haven't really talked about that, with me getting better and all. Anyway, um, so, you'll sit right here," he went on pointing at the chair. "The knights who went on the trip with Bucky will be here next to you, and then me, and then Buck, and then Dad. The knights are great, and when people are moving around and stuff, you can always come over and come talk to me or something."

"I'll do that," Peggy said, smiling. She sat down, and Steve moved a few seats down to his place. There seemed to be some sort of signal that it was time to begin, and the rest of the stragglers drifted away from their conversations and toward the table. James took his seat between Steve and their father, and the four knights settled into their places—they'd determined who was sitting where through some sort of wager on the trip, and Peggy found herself seated next to Morita. The knights who hadn't been on the trip filled out nearly the entire table to their right. Seated on the king's other side was Grand Duke Alexander, who Peggy had learned by now was very cozy with the king. On the Grand Duke's other side was Erskine, which surprised Peggy a little until she remembered what Steve had said about her being allowed to be there because she was his physician—Erskine had been the physician to the king for many years, and it would seem the honor was still awarded in retirement.

Everything started with a few opening remarks from the king—he praised James for his successes and the knights for their part in helping him, and there was a round of applause before everyone got down to the business of eating. Apparently, the speeches and such came later.

The food was delicious, and Peggy found Morita to be very pleasant company. He was polite, and interested in healing himself, so they talked shop for a while about various herbs and remedies and procedures. Dugan leaned across Morita from time to time to chime in with a joke or witty remark. Jack and Gabriel were a little too far away to make any sort of conversation, but they both said hello.

After the main course, silence fell as the king stood up again to begin the speeches and toasts. He went over their history with Rufus's kingdom, and laid out what James's negotiating had accomplished for them, to much applause. He praised the knights again, and then James got up and thanked his father and the knights, said a piece of his own, then added several amusing anecdotes about their journey. He was a terribly charismatic speaker, and Peggy found herself listening with rapt attention. After James sat down, Steve stood up to give a brief speech welcoming his brother home and congratulating the whole party on their success.

James stood up again after the applause for Steve's remarks had died down and raised his glass. "A thousand pardons, my lords and ladies," he said. "But in all this celebration, I forgot one of the most important accolades of the evening! Perhaps it's the wine," he said with a roguish laugh. "It might be going to my head after three weeks of that water they call a good wine up north."

The room responded with uproarious laughter.

"But as I was saying," James continued, not sounding at all intoxicated despite the remark about the wine. He gestured in Steve's direction. "I'm sure you've all noticed that my brother, the Prince Steven, has been restored to good health."

Peggy's eyes went wide as she realized where this was going.

"And so, I would like to take this opportunity to thank his most excellent physician, the good lady Margaret," he said, using her proper name. "For her excellent work and her service to me and my family." He looked down the table and nodded at Peggy, sincere admiration shining in his eyes, and she got a little uncertainly to her feet. "To the lady Margaret!" he said, raising his glass.

"To the lady Margaret!" the room echoed vigorously.

Peggy was sure her cheeks were a brilliant shade of red, but she smiled and gave a little curtsy. She fairly dropped back into her seat when the applause died away and James sat back down.

Morita chuckled. "Weren't expecting that, huh?" he said.

"Not in the slightest," Peggy replied, downing the contents of her glass.

There seemed to be a break in the proceedings then before dessert, and people got up and started to mingle around. Morita got up to ask a countess's daughter he'd been eyeing to dance, and Peggy felt the uncomfortable presence of an unknown person coming up behind her.

"My good lady," a man's voice said, and Peggy turned to see Grand Duke Alexander standing behind her. He was handsomely dressed in rich robes of dark gray and tasteful silver jewelry.

"Oh, good evening, Sir," Peggy said, getting quickly to her feet and curtsying. He extended a hand to help her back up, and Peggy couldn't help noticing the ring on his finger. It was shaped like a large silver serpent, and perhaps it was the way the light hit it, but it looked as though it was moving.

"Do you like it?" he asked, noticing her noticing it. He pulled it off and held it out for her to inspect it more closely. "It's part of my family crest. The ring itself has been in my family for generations."

"It's a lovely piece," Peggy said. It really was, even though it still made her a bit uneasy. "The craftsmanship is exquisite."

"Thank you, good lady," he said, sliding it back on his finger with a smile. "And speaking of craftsmanship, I wanted to offer you my congratulations. It is not often one finds a healer so young with such great skill."

"Thank you, sir," Peggy said, not sure what else to say. She got the distinct impression he was looking for something. She wasn't sure what it was, but she didn't like it.

"You're one to keep an eye on," he said, still looking at her in that evaluating way. "I shall be very interested to see what you make of yourself."

He nodded and moved away and Peggy shivered.

"Never understood why the king likes him so much," Dugan said from where he was seated, working his way through what appeared to be the remains of a whole chicken. "He sure creeps me out."

"Indeed," Peggy agreed.

"Peggy!" Steve called, coming over. "I'm really sorry," he said when he reached her. "I didn't know Bucky was going to do that, or I would have let you know."

"It's alright," Peggy assured him, stepping away from the table so Dugan could finish his chicken in peace. Steve followed.

"What did the Grand Duke want?" Steve wondered.

"To congratulate me on my work helping you," Peggy said.

"Well, that's…thoughtful," Steve said.

Peggy understood his hesitation. "Yes. Is it odd that what should have been a simple compliment made me feel so uneasy?"

Steve shook his head. "He has that effect on a lot of people." He pointed to the fire across the hall. "They're roasting chestnuts over there—would you like to go get some?"

Peggy thought that sounded lovely, and she appreciated the chance to get up and walk around a bit after such a heavy meal—especially if dessert was still yet to come. Steve pointed out who various members of the court were that they passed, and they were stopped and greeted by several of them. After taking a handful of chestnuts each, they continued their tour of the room, leaning in closely to speak to each other over the sound of the music.

"Hey, there you are!" James said, breaking away from a circle of knights to come join them. "You guys enjoying the party?"

Steve sighed. "Yeah, but, Bucky, you should have told Peggy you were going to have her stand up and everything. You can't just throw that at people without any warning. Not everybody enjoys the spotlight as much as you do."

"Oh," James said. He clearly hadn't thought of that. "I'm sorry," he said, turning to Peggy. "I just wanted people to know what a great job you were doing. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"It's alright, Sire," Peggy said with a smile. "Although I was a bit surprised. A warning next time would be appreciated."

"I'll remember that," James said. A bell chimed on the other side of the hall. "Oh, looks like it's time for dessert. Come on," he said, moving back in the direction of the table. "Gavin's going to do a ballad while we eat. You'll like him," he told Peggy. "He's the best storyteller in court."

They returned to their seats as dessert was being served—it was a splendid array of fruit tarts with cream and honey. Peggy helped herself to strawberry and blueberry, with generous helpings of cream. Beside her, Morita was making slightly indecent noises as he inhaled his blackberry tarts. "Enjoying yourself, are you?" Peggy chuckled.

"I've been on the road for three days eating increasingly stale bread," he said, not slowing down his pace. "Let a man enjoy his tarts in peace."

Peggy laughed. "Let it never be said I was one to stand in the way of sugar and fruit."

Gavin the bard began his storytelling, and James was right, he was very good. His voice was loud enough to carry through the hall and soft enough to make you lean in, and it was deep and rhythmic, rolling pleasantly through the room and weaving together the story of a knight and a fairy curse like a tapestry.

When the story ended, the music began again, and people got up to mingle or dance. Servants moved around the room with wine and little snacks, winding their way through the crowded room without spilling a drop or a morsel. Morita was off to dance with his countess's daughter again, and Dugan had left the room altogether with one of the more daringly dressed duchesses. Peggy moved to get up to talk to Steve, but he seemed to be involved in some sort of argument with James. She hesitated, and James noticed her and pointed in her direction, nudging Steve with his elbow. Steve went very red and James laughed, clapped him on the back, and stood and walked away. Steve drew in what appeared to be a fortifying breath and took a long drink from his wine glass before getting up.

"Everything alright?" Peggy asked.

Steve sighed. "He was just…" He couldn't seem to find the words he wanted. "He was just being a big brother," he said at last, sounding more annoyed than he did angry.

"Mm," Peggy said, nodding. "Giving you a hard time, was he?"

"Oh, yes," Steve agreed. He seemed to be debating saying anything more, then nodded out toward the center of the room. "Let's see if we can catch Thomas over there," he said, indicating one of the servants with a tray. "The spiced mead he's carrying is very good."

Peggy agreed, and they wended their way through the crowd to where Thomas was. Steve was right, the mead was very good, and they each took a goblet as they continued their turn of the room. Out in the center, the dancers were moving—about half of the crowd of lords and ladies and the knights. Prince James was out there, laughing merrily as he switched partners with each song, and even the king was dancing, though he didn't seem to be enjoying it as much as his son was.

Steve chuckled. "Dad looks like he's having a great time, doesn't he?" he said, nodding at his father. Uther was currently dancing with an older woman who appeared to be chatting his ear off, and he wasn't doing a very good job of disguising the fact that he looked like he would rather be anywhere else. "He doesn't really like to dance, but there are certain people he has to make nice with."

Peggy nodded. "Politics again?"

"Politics," Steve confirmed.

"Do you dance?" Peggy wondered.

Steve had been taking a drink and he choked on the mead and started to cough. "Um," he said at last, a bit red in the cheeks. "Maybe? I don't…I'm not very good."

Peggy nodded with a smile out to the dance floor at Morita and the countess's daughter. "Neither of them looks as though they're very good at it, but they seem to be having a nice time. A lack of skill isn't an obstacle to enjoying yourself."

For some reason, the statement made Steve go even redder, and he was quiet for a couple of minutes, taking another long drink of his mead. "Are you…" he started, then stopped. "Oh, I'm so bad at this. Are you…saying that you want to dance?"

"Oh," Peggy said. "I'm sorry, no, I wasn't trying to imply that you should ask me." Perhaps that was why he'd looked so uncomfortable.

"Oh. Because, I mean, if you want to, we, we can. If you want to."

He looked somewhat terrified by the prospect, and Peggy smiled and took pity on him. "Not tonight, I think," she said. "I don't know that I would be very light on my feet after a meal like that. But perhaps another time?" she added, finding she was not opposed to the idea.

"Yeah, another time," Steve agreed. "We can do it another time." He took another long drink. "Would you like to maybe walk out on the balcony for a little while?"

"Sure," Peggy said, and they moved in the direction of the large doors. The night air was cool and very welcome after the crowded room. Steve drew in a deep breath. "Was it getting a bit stuffy in there for you?" Peggy asked.

Steve nodded. "A little. Just all the heat and the smoke from the fire and everything."

"Are you breathing alright?"

He nodded again. "I am. I just needed some clearer air."

"It's a bit quieter out here as well," Peggy added. She moved forward and leaned against the railing. The town below them looked soft and sleepy in the moonlight, dotted with the sparkling lights of torches or fires peeking through windows. The countryside beyond was dark, rolling away like the sea toward the darker distance where the forest began. She looked over toward a hill silhouetted against the stars.

"Is that where you live?" Steve asked, joining her at the balcony and nodding in the direction of the hill.

"Yes," she said. "My village is just on the other side."

Steve nodded. "Do you miss it?" he asked after a moment.

"Sometimes," Peggy said. She didn't have a family to tie her there, but she did miss her friends and the simpler lifestyle there.

Steve nodded again. "Do you want to go back?" he asked, and was it Peggy's imagination, or was that hesitation in his voice? "I just…You know, you have a life there and everything, and I wouldn't want for you to think I'm going to make you stay here forever. You've got me back into pretty good shape, so, you know, you could leave instructions for my medicines and things and I would probably be alright."

"Are you trying to get me to leave?" Peggy teased.

"No," he said, sincerely. "No, I…You should go or stay as you want to. I just…I like that you're here. Not just because you made me feel better, but because…I like having you here," he finished softly.

A shiver ran up Peggy's back that she didn't think had much to do with the cool night air. She could see that even in the dimmer light, Steve was blushing at this pronouncement, but his eyes were blazing sincerity and sparkling in the light of the stars above them. She found herself staring at his lips again. "I like being here," she replied after a moment, realizing she should say something. "I'm in no hurry to leave."

Steve smiled, and she smiled back, feeling that shiver run up her back again.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Steve said. "I didn't think that with your dress—you must be cold. Should we go back inside?"

"No, that's alright," Peggy said. It _was_ getting a bit chilly, but she didn't know if she was ready for all the people and the noise again. "It's nice out here."

"Well, here," Steve said. "At least let me…" He trailed off as he fumbled with the dragon clasps on his shoulders, then unfurled his cape to settle it around Peggy's shoulders instead. "How's that?"

"Much better," Peggy said, smiling and reaching up to draw the cape a little tighter. "Thank you."

Steve smiled again, seemed to realize how close he was standing to her, and backed up a few paces.

They stayed out and chatted on the balcony for a while longer. As the party inside showed no signs of stopping, Peggy eventually suggested that it was getting late—she didn't want to be up all hours of the night, and while she was enjoying herself, she was still a physician and Steve was still her patient, and he still needed his rest.

They walked in and back up the stairs, where Steve told her good night at her door. He kissed the back of her hand before letting go, and Peggy couldn't help noticing how soft his lips were. "Good night, Steve," she said softly.

She had a bit of a lie-in the next morning, suspecting Steve wasn't going to be up and dashing about at his usual hour either. He was awake but moving slower than normal when she went to check on him, and he shrugged and said that his back always ached after he wore chain mail for too long. Peggy imagined that it must get very heavy after a while, and if Steve didn't do training with the knights like James did, it was little wonder it started to wear on his smaller frame. She had him lie face-down on his bed with his shirt off, and she got some of her oils and ointments and began to massage his back and shoulders. Steve's protest that that wasn't necessary stopped almost immediately as she worked her fingers over his muscles. He melted down into the bed and had fallen asleep by the time she was done. Peggy smiled, reached over and carefully turned his head so that he didn't suffocate in his blanket, and left to see about some breakfast.

Prince James found her when she returned with Steve from his afternoon walk, saying he had the payment for her that he had promised. Peggy's jaw fairly dropped at the weight of the bag of gold coins he handed her. He chuckled at her facial expression and told her she had more than earned it.

A new routine started to form, now that Steve was better and James had returned. James took over his old council duties, but Steve was well enough to attend his previous responsibilities. Many of them dealt with the people of the castle—even though James was in charge of the salaries, Steve was in charge of the staff. He also saw to a lot of the requests and appeals from outside the castle. Most of them were minor legal disputes about land, or requests for things like a new well for one of the villages. He told her his father looked at those things as the less important duties of royalty, which is why he gave them to Steve, but Steve liked them because they let him get to know people.

He was also spending more time in the council meetings than he had before. He'd only ever attended most of them in times when James was away, but this time he'd had some time to establish himself, and people had realized his input was valuable. His father had not been pleased, but James had insisted, and Uther had a much harder time saying no to his firstborn.

Steve being well enough to attend to his normal duties left Peggy with more free time than she'd had since coming to the castle. She still performed her daily checks and mixed up medicines for him, but he no longer needed her to shadow him as she had done. She used some of this time to start seeing more patients. It had been slow at first, people hesitant and apologizing, because they knew she wasn't the castle physician, so hopefully it wasn't presumptuous to ask, but it was just a little thing… Most of it was smaller things, like mixing up a tonic for gout for an older council member, or treating a kitchen maid's burned hand. Steve's health was still her primary focus, but she enjoyed seeing other patients as well. It gave her a chance to get to know people around the castle, and it was a routine not unlike being back at home. Once Steve heard about what she was doing, he arranged for the chamber across from hers to be cleared out so she wouldn't have to keep taking patients in her private chambers. Erskine helped her move some things of his down from his lab that he couldn't use anymore, and she soon had herself a proper clinic set up.

Still, the inhabitants of the castle were a relatively healthy group, so Peggy still had ample time to herself. Some of it she spent in the market with Angie, or perusing the castle's impressive library, but she still spent a great deal of it with Steve. They went out horse riding once or twice a week—he was teaching her how to ride, and had found a gentle little mare for her to ride named Lily. They also continued their daily walks together, as well as their chess lessons. Peggy had gotten good enough now to be able to beat him once or twice. They would also go out when the weather was nice and watch James train with the knights. Steve would occasionally go through exercises with them when they were there, but he didn't really like to—they were worried about injuring their commanding officer's sickly brother, and they went far too easy on him for him to get anything out of it. (Steve wasn't bad with a sword himself, but that had all been down to training with James.) It was a good chance to get to know some of the men, though. A few of them, like Dugan, had been training at the castle since they were young, and Steve often encouraged them to tell amusing stories about James as a young knight, which they were only too happy to do.

Though she wasn't needed to attend the council meetings with Steve anymore for medical reasons, there were times he would ask her along anyway. He had taken to heart the idea that they could use a different perspective, and he would often discuss with her the things they talked about. James had been surprised when he learned about that, but he conceded that she had some good points. "Just don't let Dad know," he said.

"The list of things your father will never know about me grows longer," she replied, and the princes both laughed at that.

Summer turned to harvest season, and Peggy was surprised at how quickly the months had passed. In some ways, she still felt like the newcomer to the castle, but in others, she felt rather at home.

As harvest season began to fade into winter, she found herself needing to pay a bit more attention to Steve's health. His joints bothered him when it got too cold, which was why they'd had that wheeled chair they had used earlier in the year—there had been times his knees hurt him so badly he could barely walk.

"It's just always been like that," he said, thanking and dismissing the aide who had been taking a letter for him because his hands hurt too much to hold a quill.

"Once again, I must express myself unimpressed with your previous healers," she said. "Here, drink this," she told him, pouring him a cup of the tea she'd been brewing over the fire.

He took a long sip, then made a face. "That is disgusting. What is it?"

Peggy chuckled. "Green tea with ginger and turmeric. It's not particularly tasty, but a cup of that every morning, and see if your joints don't start feeling better by the end of the week."

He frowned down at the cup. "Okay."

"I've also got this," she said, handing him a jar of greenish cream. "There's aloe in that and just a touch of magic to get it deeper into your joints. Put it on anywhere it hurts before you go to bed."

He took the jar a little more cheerfully. "Thank you."

She had a couple of exercises for him to try as well, and by the end of the week he reported that the pain was almost completely gone, though he maintained that the tea tasted awful. Her other standard remedy for joints that ached in the cold was to keep warm, which he was already doing anyway in an attempt to ward off the seasonal illnesses he was prone to. Peggy hoped that with all the precautions they were taking and the fact that he was in fairly good health now to start with, they could keep him out of the sickbed for the winter.

Another thing that happened as winter settled in was that James and the knights started going out more frequently to deal with skirmishes on the borders. It wasn't uncommon for that time of year—there were always raiders who showed up after harvest, looking to pillage the people's hard work. James and the knights were busy but successful in keeping the people and their food safe.

Steve was always worried when they went out, though he tried not to show it. "James is great with a sword," he said. "But he's not invincible. Much as he sometimes thinks he is." And it was true, James did sometimes come back rather worse for the wear, but nothing serious. Peggy had used magic occasionally to heal some of his wounds, but it often wasn't severe enough for that.

One rainy day, Peggy was in Steve's chambers playing chess with him when the door flung open and a wet, muddy James appeared, gasping for breath. "Oh, good, you're here," he panted, then he shouted, "Here!" and what seemed like the entire company of knights spilled into the room.

"What's going on? Are you okay?" Steve demanded, trying to look his brother up and down.

"I'm fine, but it was bad today; there were more of them than we thought there would be," he said. He looked at Peggy, piercing blue eyes pleading. "Morita needs your help."

The crowd of knights was moving back to the edges of the room, revealing Morita lying on a stretcher on the floor. He was caked with mud, but even underneath it all, Peggy could see far too much blood. "Bloody Nora," she muttered, stepping forward and dropping to her knees beside him. In all honesty, she was surprised he had made it back to the castle, the size of that hole in his stomach. If she was going to do anything, she was going to have to act quickly. "I need everyone to get out of here," she said. The knights shifted vaguely in the direction of the door, but didn't really go anywhere. "I need space," she said sharply, giving James a significant look. "Get them _out_."

"Everyone out!" James said, jumping back up and herding them towards the door. "She needs space to work. Out. All of you out." Soon there was no one in the room but him, Steve and Peggy, Morita gasping on the floor in front of them. "Can you help him?"

Instead of replying, Peggy leaned forward and placed both hands on Morita's chest. " _Hálige_!" she shouted. Acting so quickly, she was using more power than she would have otherwise, and gold light flared around her hands as the magic surged into his body. He jerked and gasped on the floor, but it was more a reaction of surprise than pain—he was still covered in blood and gore, but the wound in his torso had knit back together as if it had never been there.

Morita sat up gingerly, pressing a very uncertain hand to his midsection. He looked at Peggy, eyes wide with amazement, and possibly just a little bit of fear. "Wow," he whispered.

"Are you alright?" Peggy asked him after she'd caught her breath from the spell.

"Uh huh. You have magic."

"Yes," Peggy said, suddenly worried about how he would react. He was a knight, after all, and while James was the leader of the army, Uther was ultimately the one in charge, and one of his main directives was the illegality of magic.

"Okay," Morita said, still looking a little shellshocked. He turned to look at James, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "You knew she was going to do that," he said, though it came out sounding like a question. James nodded. "Okay," he said again.

"What the hell just happened?" came a deep, confused voice from the corner, making them all jump. Dugan was standing in the corner, and Peggy had no idea how a man his size could have blended into the shadows like that.

"I told you to get out," James said.

"I figured one person wouldn't be in the way," he replied, still staring in awe. "I wanted to make sure he was going to be okay," he added, gesturing at Morita.

James sighed and shook his head. "If you tell _anyone_ about this…"

"I'm not gonna tell anybody," Dugan said, looking offended at the suggestion.

James turned his look on Morita, who snorted. "Oh, yeah, I'm going to let her save my life, and then turn her over to be executed," he said. "Your secret's safe with me." He smiled. "And thank you."

Peggy smiled back. "You're welcome."

"They might not be going to tell anyone about you, but if he just gets up and walks out of here, that might not matter," Steve said.

"That's a very good point," Peggy agreed.

Morita grinned. "Am I about to get some time off?"

James shook his head, trying not to smile. "Evidently."

"Awesome."

"You're going to have to spend it in bed, though," Peggy pointed out. "If you want to give the appearance of healing naturally from a gaping abdominal wound."

That seemed to dim his enthusiasm a little, but then he smiled. "At least I can catch up on my sleep."

Dugan chuckled, and Steve grinned. "Let me know if you need any pointers on playing the part." Even James laughed at that.

They sent Dugan over to Peggy's clinic to bring back a box of supplies so it would look as though Peggy was working, then they sat and waited for the time it would take to reasonably perform that sort of surgery. To pass the time, Dugan and Morita asked her every question about magic they could think of, even coming up with a few that Steve hadn't thought of when she was explaining magic to him. When enough time had passed, Morita got back on the stretcher so James and Dugan could carry him to a recovery room. Peggy followed, ostensibly to set everything right in the room so he could rest, then returned to Steve's room.

"I suppose I shall have to remember to check in on him a few times a day to keep up the charade," she said.

"You do this kind of thing often?" Steve wondered. "Back in your village, I mean."

Peggy shook her head. "There were people that knew. We were far enough away from the castle, it wasn't too much of a danger. And as far as serious injuries go, if you need to be careful, it's a lot easier to convince someone that as much as it hurt, the horse didn't actually crush anything vital when it stepped on them than it is to say someone's guts spilling out isn't _that_ bad."

Steve laughed at that. "Good point."

A servant appeared then to clean up the mess from all the blood and mud, and Steve and Peggy went back to their chess game.

A few weeks passed as Morita carried out his imaginary convalescence, and he remarked several times that while it would be nice to get out of bed, lying warm and cozy and being waited on was a far sight better than fighting bandits out in the snow. Winter had well and truly fallen, and anywhere out of reach of one of the fireplaces was cold and miserable. Peggy saw a definite uptick in people coming to her for help with sniffles, coughs and fevers. She was keeping an especially close eye on Steve, who had started to wheeze a bit in the past week. At the moment, it was nothing more than the same seasonal chill affecting so many other people, but she knew it could quickly turn worrisome.

"You're as bad as Bucky. If you push my chair any closer to the hearth, these contracts are going to catch on fire," Steve complained, waving a roll of documents at her. He'd been doing more work in his chambers of late, not venturing out from the warmth unless he had to.

"Oh, hush," Peggy replied, sitting down in her own chair with a cup of tea. "If you're too hot, you can just move back."

He frowned at her, but didn't move, and she smiled. He returned his eyes to his work. Peggy watched him for a minute over the top of her teacup. He was sitting in his chair with his feet drawn up and tucked underneath his cloak. Or, perhaps, _cloaks_ would be more appropriate. James had been in earlier and declared him to not be wearing enough layers. Steve had grumbled, but had not thrown them off, and Peggy couldn't help thinking how cozy he looked underneath his pile of wools and furs.

It wasn't much later that James came in. He dropped down into a third chair with a heavy sigh. "Well, one good thing about this weather is if we can't travel in it, the raiders can't either."

"Did you fall in a mud puddle?" Steve asked, looking him up and down.

"No," James said. "It's just that bad out there. What's this?" he asked, looking down at the cup Peggy pressed into his hands.

"Something to ward off the chill," she said.

He frowned as he took a sip of it and Steve chuckled. "Yeah, her magic drinks never taste good. They work well, though."

Peggy shot Steve an annoyed look and James laughed. "Hey, it's warm, so I'll take it. And thank you."

Peggy nodded. "At least one of you has some manners."

"I said it worked, didn't I?" Steve protested.

"Hey, can I run something by you?" James asked.

"Sure," Steve said.

"Should I go?" Peggy wondered. James and Steve often discussed things in front of her, but she knew not everything was for her ears, and she always thought she should offer.

"No," James said. "Actually, I wouldn't mind seeing what you have to say about this too." He didn't seek her advice as often as Steve did, but he'd been doing so more lately as her suggestions that Steve took to the council proved effective.

Peggy nodded and settled back in her chair.

"What's up, Buck?" Steve asked.

James sighed. "It's these raiders we keep having to deal with," he said. "They're…Well, it's awfully late in the winter, for one thing."

Steve and Peggy nodded. Peggy's village had been close enough to the center of the kingdom to seldom be troubled by things like that, but she'd seen and heard of enough of it around. Raiders usually came around the end of the harvest season, once everything had been prepared and stored. Usually by this point in the winter, they'd taken what they wanted or given up on trying to get it, hunkering down against the weather like everyone else.

"They just keep coming, though," James said. "And they—it almost feels strategic, the way they're attacking."

"What do you mean?" Steve asked.

"It's where they keep popping up. I don't want to walk away from the fire yet, but I'll get a map later and show you. They're only hitting the villages that supply food to the castle."

"Is that unusual?" Peggy asked.

"A little," Steve said. "More food, bigger payoff, but also a higher military presence."

"Exactly," James agreed. "I mean, there's always a few that try, so it didn't strike me as odd at first, but since that's all they've hit…" He frowned. "No, wait, that's not true, there is one other village they keep coming back to—Redhaven—and we can't figure out why. It's one of the smaller ones, and I've posted a permanent guard there with as often as they keep hitting it."

"Do they grow something in particular they might want?" Steve asked.

"No," James said. "Corn, same as every village in a fifteen-mile radius from them."

"Redhaven…" Peggy said thoughtfully.

James looked over at her. "Does that mean something to you?"

"Maybe?" she said. "I've heard that name before, but I can't think of where."

"Do they do magic in Redhaven or something?" Steve wondered.

"No," Peggy said. "Keep going and let me think on it. It'll come to me. So, aside from Redhaven, they seem to be targeting the castle itself, in a roundabout sort of way?" she prompted.

"Yeah," James agreed. "And they're…" He frowned. "I fight raiders every year. They're all the same—guys who have been living rough for a while, who have enough weapons to terrorize a village, but not enough skill to put up much of a fight where knights are concerned. They're more of an annoyance than anything else. The guys we've been running into lately are something different. They're stronger, they're more organized, and they seem to fight with actual plans and formations."

"They sound like soldiers," Steve said. "Could it be trouble from another kingdom?"

"I thought of that," James said. "But if it is, they're being awfully secretive about it. No flags or emblems or anything that could identify them. If another kingdom is trying to start a war, this is the strangest way to go about it that I've ever seen."

They discussed the problem a while longer, and Peggy couldn't help thinking James was right—they seemed organized enough to be a military unit, but none of them could work out what they were after.

"It's getting late," James said eventually. "I'm going to go talk to Father, just to see if he knows anything on the diplomatic front that could give us some insight. I'll be back in the morning with some maps and things and we can keep going."

He bid them both goodnight and left the room. "He seems awfully worried," Peggy said, gathering up her cloak for the short trip to her own chambers. She was already thinking longingly of her blankets and the copper bed warmer she knew Angie would have tucked down between them.

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "If there's a war coming, he'd be the one heading it up, and it's hard to prepare when you don't know what's coming." He nodded to himself. "But maybe some sleep will let us come at it with fresh eyes in the morning." He smiled at her. "Have a good night. And stay warm out there, huh?"

She smiled back. "It seems like a terribly long way to go, I've half a mind to stay here." She blushed as she realized what it sounded like she was implying. "I won't, though," she added quickly. "Good night, Steve." She hurried out into the corridor and into her room, practically diving into her nice warm bed. "Angie, you're a saint," she said, snuggling down deeper into her blankets. Steve underneath his pile of cloaks sprang to her mind, and she thought how cozy it would be to wrap up like that with him and join him by the fire, then she felt her cheeks go warm at the thought and she put it out of her mind.

The next morning was chilly as ever, if slightly less rainy. After breakfast, James took over the table in Steve's room with a pile of maps and charts and they got to work again. They'd made little progress by midmorning, other than the realization that Redhaven was in the center of all the activity. Peggy still couldn't remember where she'd heard the name before, but she knew it had been a long time ago. Why was it important?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Steve reaching for a goblet of water he'd put on the table earlier, tipping it over as his fingers knocked against it instead of picking it up.

"Hey, Steve, watch out!" James said, snatching the nearest map up out of the path of the water. "I—" His eyes went wide as he looked up. "Steve, are you okay?"

After knocking the goblet over, Steve had swayed and stumbled back a couple of steps to sit down heavily in the nearest chair. "Um," he said, blinking like he was having trouble bringing his brother into focus. "I…" His head lolled on his neck and he slumped forward onto the table, eyes fluttering shut.

"Steve!" James exclaimed, tossing down the map and jumping up.

Peggy was closer, and she got there first. "Steve?" she asked worriedly, placing a hand under his chin and lifting his head. He didn't respond to her touch, but his skin was far warmer than it should have been. "He's burning up," she said, surprised. Where had that come from?

"What?" James asked, stopping beside her.

"It's a fever," Peggy said. She stepped quickly away from the table, headed for her clinic and her supplies. "Get him up on his bed," she told James. "And get him to drink some water. I'll be right back."

She hurried across the hall, snatched up her case of supplies, then ran back to Steve's room.

James had laid him out on the bed and was holding his head up, holding the water goblet to his lips. He still didn't seem to be awake, but he was drinking the water. Peggy set her case on the bedside table and laid a hand on Steve's chest, running her diagnostic spell.

"What is it?" James asked.

"Nothing," Peggy replied, finding no signs of anything alarming. "It's just a fever."

"But where did it come from?" James asked. "He was fine this morning. Wasn't he?"

"He was," Peggy confirmed. Nothing had seemed amiss when she'd run her daily checks. "But right now I think we should focus on bringing the fever back down." It appeared to be just an ordinary fever, if a very fast one.

"Right," James agreed. "What should I do?"

"For the moment, get out of the way," she said, pulling vial from her case. She uncorked it and lifted Steve's head to help him drink it. "Let's see what that does."

"He _has_ been wheezing some lately," James pointed out after a minute of silence. "Could this be part of the same thing?"

Peggy inclined her head. "It could be. It's just odd that it came up so quick."

"Yeah," James agreed. "Although, there have been a couple of winters in the past where he got sick—" He clicked his fingers. "—just like that."

Peggy nodded. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised that Steve would have gotten ill—really, she'd been half-expecting it since the weather got bad. She just would have expected more warning than a bit of a wheeze.

With the medicine administered, she and James set to making Steve comfortable. They got his boots and his belt off, then wrestled his unconscious body into a lighter, looser shirt than the tunic he'd been wearing. They washed the sweat from his face and neck and got him to drink some more water.

A couple of hours passed, and Peggy found it worrying that he was showing no signs of improvement. He was sleeping uneasily, but had yet to regain consciousness. His temperature had not gone down at all. "That's not right," Peggy said. She went on to explain when James arched a questioning eyebrow. "The medicine I gave him wasn't an instant cure or anything, but there should be some signs of it working by now."

"Do you have an instant cure?" James wondered. "Maybe we should try that."

"I can try," Peggy said. "Fevers tend to be temperamental about magic, but there's no harm in it." She sat down on the bed next to Steve, resting a hand on his head. He was still warm, and a faint sheen of sweat glistened on his skin. " _Gecéle_ ," she said, pushing the magic out through her hand and into Steve. She frowned as his body seemed reluctant to accept it, and she pushed a little harder. A shiver ran through his body and he let out a little moan.

"It doesn't look like it worked," James said after a minute.

"It didn't," Peggy replied. If that spell was going to work, he should have woken up. "But as I said, fevers and magic are a temperamental mix. We'll have to do this more slowly. Give him some more water while I mix something up."

James poured out some more water and set to helping Steve drink it. As Peggy measured out some powdered yarrow, she couldn't help noticing it was a bit more work for James to get Steve to take the water than it had been earlier. He was even more reluctant to take the yarrow mixture, but Peggy could hardly blame him for that with the way it tasted.

As a few more hours passed, Steve began to toss, muttering to himself uneasily. They continued to ply him with water and the yarrow mixture, and they had removed his shirt and were taking it in turns to wipe him down with cloths of cool water, but his temperature continued to climb.

"I don't understand it," Peggy said. She'd just run another diagnostic spell, thinking perhaps she'd missed something, but, again, she found nothing. She looked up at James. "You mentioned before that there were previous winters where he'd gotten sick all of a sudden. Tell me more about that. Specifics. Anything you can remember."

James did so and Peggy listened intently, trying to see if there were any links she could find between his past illnesses and this one. None of it sounded right, however. The symptoms were different, or they had traceable causes. Steve may have been prone to getting ill, but this fever was something new.

Later in the afternoon, the king came by, and James went out into the hallway to speak with him. Peggy didn't catch most of what they were saying through the door, but evidently there were things James was meant to be doing, and Steve got sick all the time and wasn't that what they had hired a personal physician for anyway? It turned into a shouting match that culminated with James storming back into the room and slamming the door behind him. Steve jumped at the loud noise, but didn't wake.

"Is everything alright?" Peggy asked after a moment.

"It's fine," James said curtly. His hard expression softened as he looked at Steve, and he crossed the room to sit down beside him. "Don't worry, Stevie, I'm here," he said gently as Steve started to moan again, carding his fingers back through his sweat-slick hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

By the time evening fell, Steve had stopped sweating. James was hopeful at first, but Peggy shook her head. "That would only be good if he was cooling down," she pointed out. His temperature was still climbing, and his body was trying to conserve what moisture it could by keeping him from sweating. He was also starting to fight it when they tried to get him to drink more, making it difficult to replace that moisture.

Something more drastic was needed, so Peggy called for a bath and had it filled with cold water. They stripped Steve down to his undergarments, then James picked him up and climbed into the tub, sitting down with a shiver and tucking Steve against his chest so that he didn't slide under the water. They stayed there until James started to shiver uncontrollably, and Peggy ordered them to get out. "The last thing we need is you getting sick on top of this," she told him when he insisted he could do it longer. "Besides, I don't think it's helping," she said. Both Steve and the water appeared to be warmer than they had started out.

James laid Steve back on the bed and went to change into something dry. Peggy barely needed to dry Steve off, the water was evaporating from his skin so quickly. "What's wrong, Steve?" Peggy asked, closing her eyes and laying her hands on his chest. He let out a small, sad whimper. "Tell me," she said. "I'm listening." She ran the diagnostic spell for what seemed like the hundredth time, shutting out everything but the feel of the magic in her fingertips and the way it changed as it flowed through his body. Nothing. She opened her eyes and drew in an unsteady breath. "Keep fighting this," she told him. "I will help you—I swear I will—but you need to hang on until I figure out how."

Peggy grew increasingly desperate in her spellwork as the night wore on. She knew that fevers were finicky when it came to magic, but something had to work! They even called Erskine down—his magic wasn't what it used to be, but his mind was still sharp—but even he was stymied. Most of the suggestions he made, Peggy had already tried, and the ones she hadn't thought of didn't work when she tried them.

By midnight, Steve was seeing things. His eyes were open, but they were vacant and glassy, following things only he could see around the room while he muttered unintelligible things to himself. Whatever he was seeing appeared to frighten him, and James climbed up onto the bed and pulled Steve into his lap.

"Hey, look at me, Stevie," he said gently, tilting his brother's head back to lean against his shoulder. Even with everything she'd seen between them, Peggy had never heard him speak so tenderly. "Look at me," James said again, patting Steve's cheek carefully.

Steve rolled sad, sick eyes up in the direction of his brother's voice. "'uck'?" he rasped uncertainly.

"Hey," James said, a worried smile on his face. "Hey, Stevie. It's okay, alright? You're gonna be okay."

Steve muttered something that Peggy didn't catch, and she didn't think James did either, but he seemed to understand it.

"Shh," he soothed. "I know." He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Steve's forehead. "But it's okay," he said softly. "It's okay. I've got you. Your brother's got you."

Steve's eyelids fluttered and he nuzzled his head into James's shoulder before passing out again.

James looked up at Peggy, moisture swimming in his eyes. "Please, you have to do something," he begged.

Peggy swallowed down a knot in her throat and nodded, turning back to her medicine chest. Steve wasn't going to last much longer at this rate, and there had to be something left she hadn't tried. She picked up the yarrow again and remembered something she'd learned back in her studies, a potion Erskine had taught them about that was a variation on the plant's normal use. The resulting mixture was so potent it was hardly ever used, but if ever there was a time for that, it was now.

She mixed it up quick as she could, working magic into the brew to give it strength. She poured some out into a glass and brought it to the bed. Steve had been refusing all liquids for nearly two hours now, but James had been having better luck with it than she had. "Get him to drink as much of that as you can," she told him.

"Hey, Stevie," he said, patting his brother's cheek. Steve's eyes flickered open. "Hey, can you drink this for me?" He brought the glass to Steve's lips, and Steve moaned and turned his head away. "Hey, no, no, Stevie, I need you to do this, okay?" He managed to get a bit of the liquid past Steve's lips before Steve moaned again and swatted weakly at the glass.

"Come on, Steve," James coaxed, pulling the glass back out of reach so Steve didn't spill it. Steve whimpered. "I'll even help you, alright? See, look." He brought the glass to his own mouth and took a small drink. "Okay," he said, his face scrunching up. "I can see why you don't want it, because that is disgusting, but I need you to do this for me, okay? We'll do it together." He took another tiny sip, then put the glass back at Steve's mouth. Steve allowed him to pour some of the mixture down his throat, and James smiled. "There you go," he praised. "Good boy. Okay, let's try it again." He took another miniscule sip, then offered the cup to Steve again. Peggy couldn't help smiling as she watched them pass the cup back and forth until Steve had drained the glass.

"That was artfully done," she said when James handed her the empty glass. Steve had fallen asleep again.

James smiled down at his brother fondly. "I haven't had to do that in a while. It used to work pretty well when we were kids and he got sick." He held onto Steve for a few more minutes, then moved away when it seemed like he had settled—he still wasn't cooling down, and didn't need the heat of another body.

Steve came awake enough a bit later to take some more of the medicine, but it didn't appear to be helping as it should have. By this point in the night, Peggy was disappointed but not surprised, and she felt a wave of despair rising up in her chest. She was running out of things to try.

That was when the seizures started.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Peggy wondered that they hadn't begun earlier, as high as his temperature was right now, but now wasn't the time to worry with that. She showed James how to hold on to his ankles and shoulders loosely—holding too tight to someone having a fit could hurt them, but she didn't want him to throw himself off the bed.

The seizure stopped after a couple of minutes and Steve dropped back to the bed, exhausted and breathing hard.

"Peggy, that—" James began, stopping abruptly as Steve started to seize again. He went through three more seizures in rapid succession, with barely enough time to breathe between them before he flopped bonelessly back onto the bed, so still that Peggy had to check to make sure he was still breathing.

"You need to do something," James said sharply.

"I am doing everything I can," Peggy shot back.

"Well, it's not enough!" James replied.

"What do you want me to do?" Peggy demanded.

"Anything!" he replied. "You have magic—use it!"

"I have been!"

"Well, do it again! Spells or potions or whatever! Just do it! Check him again and find out what's wrong with him!"

"There's nothing wrong with him!" Peggy shouted back. "That's the problem! I keep checking and there's nothing…" She trailed off mid-sentence, struck by a sudden realization.

"What?" James asked.

"There's nothing wrong with him," Peggy repeated. "I was checking for magic affecting him and I couldn't find any, but there should have been something. If not magical, then biological at the very least, because he _is_ sick. But there wasn't even that."

"What are you saying?" James asked.

Peggy felt as though her brain had just been struck by lightning. "I think I know what this is," she said, half to herself. She'd been treating this like it was a natural fever because she'd found no signs of magic, but now she realized that if it was natural, she should have seen signs of that. She hadn't seen signs of _anything_. James opened his mouth and she shushed him, closing her eyes and laying a hand on Steve's chest. She tried a new spell, not the diagnostic one, not now that she knew what she was looking for.

Silence hung heavy over the room for a long minute as she searched, then her eyes snapped open. "I found it," she whispered. She dashed away from the bed in the direction of her case, digging frantically for the tool she knew was in there somewhere.

"What is it?" James asked.

"Magic," she snapped. "Very dark magic." She would take the time later to be frightened over just how dark it was. She found what she was looking for and hurried back to the bed with the small, flat stone in her hand.

"What are you—" James began as she lowered the stone down to rest on Steve's stomach.

"Shut up; I need to concentrate," she snapped, and he was quiet.

Peggy closed her eyes and placed her hands on top of the stone. Now that she knew it was there, she could feel the magic swirling inside of Steve, wreaking havoc on his body. She pushed magic out of her hands and into the stone, and the tendrils of darkness inside of Steve stopped their churning. Slowly, unwillingly, the dark magic started moving again, this time in the direction of the stone in her hands. She could almost imagine the little pieces of it squealing in protest as she drew them to her, but the stone was like a magnet, and they could not escape. When the stone was filled to capacity with all the darkness it could hold, Peggy opened her eyes and lifted it up, holding it a few inches above Steve's stomach. She heard James gasp somewhere behind her as the skin of Steve's stomach stretched up with it, the knot of dark magic she had gathered into a ball poking up from underneath it as it was drawn to the stone.

"What the hell is that?" he whispered.

"Sh," she said. She started moving the stone towards his chest, hovering it a few inches above his skin the whole time. The tangle of dark magic followed, rippling underneath Steve's skin as she pulled it along. She drew the magic slowly up his chest, between his ribs and towards his throat. "Bowl," she snapped at James, nodding back to the table. "Fetch that bowl," she clarified when he looked puzzled.

He jumped up, grabbed the bowl, and hurried back with it.

"Bring his head to the side of the bed and hold the bowl under his mouth," she instructed.

James did so, carefully readjusting Steve until his head was at the edge of the mattress, turning him so that he was facing off the bed. Peggy held tight to the magic to make sure she didn't lose any, then resumed her journey in the direction of his throat. When the knot of magic reached his throat, he started to jerk as if another seizure were forthcoming. "Wait," she told James, who had started to set the bowl down to get up to hold him. "It's not a seizure."

Steve jerked a couple more times, then started to gag as the knot of magic filled his throat and cut off his air. Peggy kept pulling it forward, knowing the only way out was through. She drew the stone along Steve's chin and then held it out in front of his mouth. He gagged again, coughed, and then something black started dribbling from his mouth. James's eyes went wide, but he remembered his task and held the bowl up to catch it. Peggy pulled the stone farther back to avoid getting anything on her hands as Steve heaved and began vomiting up a sticky black substance that looked like tar.

He slumped back down into the bed when he was finished, breathing hard. "Hang on; I need to get the rest of it," Peggy said, forestalling the questions she saw in James's eyes. There had been too much of it for her to get all in one go, so she returned the stone to Steve's stomach and began the process again. There wasn't as much of it this time, not reaching the capacity of what the stone could hold, but she held the stone there longer and checked and checked again until she was absolutely certain that she had it all. Just like before, she pulled the magic up through Steve's body, his skin shifting in angry ripples under the stone as the curse protested its removal. Just like before, he gagged and choked when it reached his throat, then vomited the remainder of it out into the bowl. He kept vomiting until nothing but sticky strings of black bile were coming out. Peggy brought the stone up to his lips, and the last little remaining bits of dark magic clinging to his teeth and tongue snapped forward in the direction of the stone and fell into the bowl.

Steve stilled, and Peggy stepped back, lowering her hand and feeling suddenly exhausted. For a moment, she and James simply stared at the mass of magic in the bowl in his hands. It writhed and twisted as though it were alive, drawing all the little pieces of itself back together until it was in a small, defensive ball that rippled and pulsed.

"Alright, what the hell was that?" James finally asked.

"That," Peggy said grimly. "Was some very dark magic." She took the bowl from James and set it on the table by the fire. The magic ball was pulsing more weakly, losing strength, and the bowl was deep enough, Peggy wasn't worried about it getting away. She wasn't finished with it yet, though.

"Is he okay now?" James asked worriedly, looking back at his brother. Steve's face was red from the strain of vomiting up the dark magic, but the lines that had been there before had eased, and he was breathing more easily.

"He is," Peggy said. She crossed back to the bed and sat down beside Steve, resting a hand on his head. She knew he would be fine now, but she ran a diagnostic spell anyway, just to check. The magic was gone now, and there were all the signs of fever that should have been there earlier, winding down and fading away. "He's even starting to cool down already."

James put a hand up to his brother's cheek, then smiled in relief. His skin was still warm, but no longer burning, returning to its normal temperature rapidly. He looked back up, eyes meeting Peggy's. "Seriously, though, what the hell just happened?"

"I'll tell you, but let's get him dressed again," Peggy said. "With his fever falling like this, he's going to start getting cold soon."

They worked his limbs back into his clothes, though they didn't put him under the blankets yet—not until he had cooled down a little more. "So?" James prompted.

"So," Peggy began. "That was very dark magic. Magic that was designed to hide itself—that's why my diagnostic spells didn't spot it before. And since the fever was being caused by the spell, all the indications of it were being hidden from me too. That's why I couldn't figure out what was wrong." She sighed. In hindsight, the lack of natural indications in the diagnostic should have been a dead giveaway. "I should have worked it out earlier."

"You caught it," James said. "That's what's important." He looked down at Steve, then frowned up at Peggy. "You said it was magic. That means someone did this to him, doesn't it?"

Peggy nodded. "It does. There are some sorts of magic that people can come across by accident, but this…" She shook her head. "This wasn't a naturally occurring spell, or even an innocent magician trying to do something else that got away from them. This was deliberate. And it was cruel," she added. "This spell…Left to the fever on his own, Steve would have succumbed to it in a few days, but this spell was designed so that any attempts to cure it made it stronger. Everything I did to try to bring the fever down…" She stopped to swallow down a knot in her throat. "I was killing him faster."

James's eyes widened in horror.

"This spell was designed to kill him, and it was designed to make him suffer while it happened," Peggy finished.

James stared back down at his brother, taking his hand as though making sure he was really there. "Why?" he asked. "Why would someone do that?"

"I don't know," she said. Peggy had been so focused on the fact that she had nearly killed Steve that she hadn't gotten around to that question yet. "I mean, he is the prince. That happens from time to time, doesn't it? Assassination attempts and such?"

"Yeah, but, but to _me_ ," James replied. He was still staring at Steve in horror. " _I'm_ the one who's going to be the king one day. _I'm_ the one in charge of the army, and the treasury, and, and…" He waved a perplexed hand at his sleeping brother. "Steve doesn't…I mean, he isn't…Why would anyone want to kill him?" He looked up at Peggy at last, looking lost and utterly bewildered. In another context, the words might have come off as egotistical, but Peggy understood what he meant. Of the two of them, Steve was by far the less likely target.

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe…With his propensity for getting ill, it would have seemed more natural than if it had happened to you. Or perhaps whoever did this didn't know how to get to you." Steve shifted and sighed, and James leaned in closer, running a hand back over his brother's hair, and Peggy reconsidered. "Or maybe," she said. "Maybe they knew _exactly_ how to get to you."

"What do you mean?" James asked, looking up again, his hand still resting on Steve's hair.

"What would you have done if this had killed him?" she asked.

"I…I don't know, I…" James stammered, clearly not wanting to think about it.

"If it's not overstepping to say so," Peggy ventured. "I think you would have gone to pieces. It's no secret that the two of you are close, and if you'd lost him…"

"I would have fallen apart," James agreed.

Peggy's eyes widened as realization hit her. "The soldiers," she said.

"What soldiers?"

"The raiders—the ones you thought seemed like they were part of an army." Had that really only been yesterday that they had talked about it? "If they really are an army, and there really is a war coming, you would be expected to lead the battle. And if Steve had just died…"

"I would have been a wreck," James finished for her. "There's no way I would have been able to focus on, on strategies, or battle plans, or, or anything. It would be a disaster, I—" He stopped speaking with a growl, jumping to his feet and snatching up the water pitcher beside the table to hurl it against the wall with a splash and a shatter that made Peggy jump. He whirled around as if looking for something else to throw, then drew in a deep breath, calming himself with obvious effort. "Somebody actually had the gall to think that hurting Steve would—" He growled again. "How do we find who did this? Because this is the last mistake they're ever going to make."

Several years ago, Peggy had seen the king in one of the towns at a public sentencing and execution of a magician. There had been hatred and cold fury in his voice and not a speck of mercy, and in this moment, Peggy was suddenly reminded that James was the son of Uther Pendragon. In any other circumstance, that would have worried her, but this time, she was inclined to agree with him.

"There's a spell I can do," she said, nodding at the bowl on the table where the ball of dark magic was still writhing sluggishly. "Magic like that leaves traces. I'll find them." She nodded at Steve. "His temperature is coming back to normal, but he still needs to replenish all the water he lost. See if you can get him to drink some more while I get this set up."

James nodded and moved back to his brother's bedside. He'd broken the pitcher, but there was still water in the glass, and he picked it up as he settled down next to his brother, propping his head up to drink. There was no cajoling needed this time—Steve remained asleep, but his mouth opened as soon as the glass touched his lips and he drank it down eagerly. Peggy had thought earlier that his reluctance to drink any of the water or medicine came from feverish confusion, and it probably did, but now she wondered if part of it had been him attempting to fight off the spell in his own way.

After working and casting magic all day and being up most of the night, Peggy was exhausted. But there was work to be done, and she sat down in front of the bowl of dark magic with determination. She took a deep breath, collecting herself, then set to work. She cast several spells over the bowl, and she could feel them fighting with the dark magic inside it. She kept pushing until she was certain her magic had the upper hand, then stood up. It would take some time for her magic to break through the curse's defenses.

To her surprise, James was standing behind her chair, looking hesitant. "It looked like I shouldn't interrupt you," he said. "I think Steve is starting to get cold, and I wasn't sure if I should cover him up yet or not."

Peggy nodded and crossed the room to check on him. She didn't even need a spell to see that the fever was nearly gone. "We can warm him back up now," she said, reaching for one of the blankets to unfold it. You always had to take care after a fever broke, as the body was vulnerable and liable to catch a chill as its temperature fell rapidly. She unfurled the blanket over him and tucked it around his shoulders. She reached up to brush his hair from his forehead, letting her hand linger there for a moment. "He'll be alright," she said softly, more to herself than to James.

Once they were sure Steve was settled in comfortably, James nodded over at the bowl of magic. "So, what did you find?"

"Nothing yet," she said. "It's a powerful spell that will take mine some time to break through. It will be several hours before we get a result." He nodded wearily, impatient but accepting. "Why don't you get some sleep?" she suggested. "I'll look after him."

"Thanks," James said with a tired smile. "But I think I'll stay here." He sat down on the bed next to Steve and kicked his boots off, then repositioned one of the pillows behind him against the headboard. "I will sleep, though," he said. He shifted down a bit more horizontal and folded his arms across his chest. "You should get some sleep too," he said before shutting his eyes. Steve nuzzled his head into the side of James's leg, and James let one of his hands drift down to rest on his brother's hair.

Peggy watched them for a moment, smiling softly, then she turned and waved a hand at the broken pieces of pitcher on the floor. They reassembled themselves and came to rest on the table again, and Peggy sank back down into the chair by the bed. There wasn't really any need for her to stay here—Steve was no longer in danger, and James was here in case he needed anything. Peggy could have gone back to her own room and collapsed into bed for a few hours, but she stayed where she was.

There wasn't anything she could do to speed along the tracking spell she was doing on the remains of the curse, and with nothing else to think about, she was left to ponder the question James had brought up earlier. Who had done this? And why? Was it someone with a grudge against the royal family? Or perhaps a more sinister purpose, something that tied back to James and a possible upcoming war? In either case, it was someone who had very nearly made Peggy do their job for them. It was clear as day now, the way Steve's temperature had climbed shortly after each attempt to counteract it. And Peggy had just kept going, trying harder and harder and only succeeding in bringing him closer and closer to burning alive. She closed her eyes and forced back the sharp sting of tears. The fact that she had been trying to help didn't do much to assuage the guilt of nearly killing him. "I'm so sorry, Steve," she whispered, reaching up and wrapping her hands around one of his. She leaned forward and rested her forehead against the back of his hand, feeling how cool his skin was now, and, if she concentrated, the faint pulsing of his blood through the veins across the back of his hand. She closed her eyes and just breathed, focusing on those signs of life.

She didn't realize she had fallen asleep until she was waking up, her head pillowed on the mattress and Steve's hand under her cheek. Steve was blinking at her lethargically, and she sat up quickly. "Hi," he said sleepily.

"Hello," she said, smiling to see him coherent again. "How are you feeling?"

"Um," he began. He blinked and licked his lips, coming a little more awake. "Really tired. Kind of confused. What's happening?"

"Do you feel ill at all?" she asked, leaning forward to place a hand on his forehead to assure herself that his temperature was alright.

He considered for a moment. "No. What's going on?"

"You were sick," she told him. "With a really bad fever."

He frowned. "I don't remember getting sick."

"It came up very quickly," she said. She sighed. "It was magic."

"Magic?"

"Someone cursed you," she said. She sighed and started to explain what had happened. Steve listened intently, frowning as he did so.

"Well," he said when she had finished. "I guess that explains why I woke up with Bucky half on top of me." He cast a sideways look at his brother, who had rolled a bit in the night and was lying on Steve's shoulder. He was snoring quietly and showing no signs of waking any time soon. "He gets kind of clingy when something really bad happens like that," Steve added by way of explanation. "And I guess that explains why I feel so…drained," he added, pausing to search for the word. "I don't feel sick, but…"

Peggy nodded. "The fever was quick, but it took a lot out of you. It…It nearly killed you. You're liable to be tired for some time."

Steve nodded. "Makes sense. Hey, thank you, by the way." He smiled at her. "You saved my life again."

Peggy found she couldn't smile back. "Almost in spite of myself, yes, I suppose I did."

"What do you mean?"

"Steve, I told you how the curse worked. Everything I did only made it worse."

"I guess, but you figured it out in the end," he said, sounding maddeningly unconcerned. "That's the important part." He smiled at her. "Besides, I'm turning out to be pretty hard to kill."

"Don't—" Peggy swallowed down a sudden knot in her throat. "Please don't joke about it."

"Okay," Steve said, serious once more. "I'm sorry." He looked as though he wanted to sit up, but he couldn't with James lying on his shoulder, so he held out a hand to her, looking worried. "What is it?" he asked, squeezing her hand when she took his.

"I just…" Peggy began. "You almost died, Steve. I—" She'd been up all night working and worried and she was exhausted and should probably just stop talking, but she didn't really care right now. "You haven't been just a patient to me in a long time. I couldn't bear it if I lost you."

His eyes widened in surprise for a moment, then he smiled warmly at her. "You didn't," he reminded her. "I'm okay." He squeezed her hand tightly. "And it was you that made sure of that." He drew in a deep breath. "And—"

Whatever else he had been about to say was cut short as James rolled over and his hand flopped over and hit Steve in the eye. Steve grunted, then scowled and swatted James's leg, and James woke up with a start and nearly fell off the bed. Peggy couldn't quite hold back an amused snort. "The future rulers of Camelot, ladies and gentlemen," she chuckled.

Steve laughed at that, and James sat up and blinked owlishly. "What?"

"Never mind," Steve said.

"Steve!" James exclaimed happily. "You're awake! How are you feeling?"

"Tired, but alive," Steve said. He nodded at Peggy. "Peggy told me what happened."

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," Steve insisted. His brow furrowed. "Hey, how did I get cursed, anyway? Was there someone just, like, thinking evil magic at me, or…?"

"Proximity usually matters in magic," Peggy said. "And for that particular spell, you would have had to actually ingest it. It works rather quickly, so I would imagine it was something in your breakfast yesterday."

Steve considered. "I don't remember anything tasting off about it."

"It probably wouldn't have," Peggy said.

"Do we know who did it yet?" James asked.

Peggy got up and checked the bowl over on the table. "It looks about ready," she said. She dug through her case and fished out a small mirror and stand. "Alright," she said. "I'm going to finish the last part of the spell, and then we should get an image of the person who cast it here," she said, propping the mirror up on the stand.

"No, stay in bed, Steve!" James said as Steve threw his blankets back.

"I can't see the mirror from here," Steve complained.

"Just stay here and we'll tell you who it is."

"I'm the one who got cursed, here. I'm going to see who did it to me," Steve insisted. He arched an eyebrow. "If you're worried I'll fall over, you can help me, but I'm going."

Peggy bit her lip and tried not to smile as James grumbled to himself, but got an arm around Steve and helped him walk the short distance to the table. Steve's exhausted muscles were trembling after covering the short distance, but James's grip kept him steady. He settled Steve into a chair, then wrapped a blanket around him. "Okay," James said. He nodded at Peggy. "Let's do it."

Peggy began the spell, and now that her magic had had time to work, it easily broke through the last defenses of the curse. The ball of dark magic wriggled and squelched and dissolved abruptly into a yellowish glow. The glow lifted up out of the bowl and ringed the mirror, settling on the glass and seeping inside. It shifted underneath the glass for several long seconds, coalescing slowly into shapes and colors that became a recognizable figure, and Peggy gasped as it shifted abruptly into focus.

"Is that…Is that _Grand Duke Alexander_?!" Steve asked after several seconds of stunned silence.

"Sure looks like it," James breathed. He blew out a huff of air and ran a hand back over his hair. "What the hell?"

"I have no idea," Peggy said.

"Are you sure this is right?" James asked. "I mean, I've never really liked the guy, but…"

"It's right," Peggy said.

"He's been Dad's closest advisor longer than I've been alive," Steve said. "And he's been almost as obsessive about hunting down magicians as Dad has. It doesn't make sense."

"There's also the fact that if he wanted to kill you, he's had ample opportunity before now," Peggy pointed out.

"What do we do about this?" James said. "We can't…" He ran a hand back over his hair again. "We've got to do something, but we can't—"

"We can't tell Dad," Steve finished for him.

"He'd never believe it," James agreed. "Especially since our only proof came from magic."

"That certainly does complicate things," Peggy agreed. She frowned down at the picture of the Grand Duke still lingering in the mirror. The few times she'd been in close proximity to him, he'd always made her uneasy, but she'd never thought…

They pondered over the idea for some time, but couldn't see any way forward. "We have to try something," James said at last. "If we just wait, well, who knows what else he'll try?" He drew in a deep breath, as though he was fortifying himself. "I have to tell Dad."

"Buck, he's not gonna—" Steve began.

"What else can I do?" James replied. "I'll leave the magical healing part out of it—I won't let him come after Peggy. I'll just…" He sighed. "I'll tell him he tried to use magic to kill you."

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Steve asked. James might have been the favorite son, but pitting himself so squarely against the king's closest confidante was a massive risk. There was no telling which of them Uther would believe, especially if James had no way to back up his story.

"Yes," James answered sharply. His face softened as he looked back at Steve. "He tried to kill you, Stevie," he said softly, and the exhaustion and the fear and the misery of the whole ordeal shone brightly in his eyes. "I couldn't…" He shook his head, and that dangerous look that reminded Peggy of Uther was back. "It's taking everything I have not to just go after him with my sword right now."

Steve nodded. "Just be careful, okay?"

"I will," James assured him. He rested one hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezed it warmly. Then he turned to Peggy, took one of her hands in both of his, and kissed the back of her fingers. "Thank you," he said earnestly. "Thank you." He squeezed her hand tightly. "And I won't let them know about you. However this goes, I promise I'll keep you safe."

Peggy nodded, squeezed his hand in return, and then he was gone.

Steve shook his head sadly. "I don't know what he's going to do."

"I certainly don't envy him his task," Peggy agreed. "Though I can't argue with his reasoning." She'd never thought of herself as a vengeful person, but her mind was milling over every curse she knew after what he'd just done. She sighed. "Come on," she said, getting a hand under Steve's arm. "You need to get back in bed."

Steve didn't argue, which told her how much the fever had really drained him. He sank into bed and burrowed under his covers against the chill. Peggy gave him an extra dose of the tonic for his heart in case the fever had strained it, and he took it thoughtfully. He clearly had a lot on his mind, but he was just as clearly having trouble staying awake. "I just don't get it," he sighed.

Peggy could only shrug. "I have no idea either." She looked at Steve curiously. "If you don't mind me saying so, you don't seem terribly bothered by the fact that someone just tried to kill you."

Steve gave her a small smile. "No, I am. I guess the confusion is just overriding it right now." He shook his head, pausing to yawn. "I don't understand what reason he would have for trying to kill me. What does he get out of it?"

"You have been making something of a nuisance of yourself on the council as far as he's concerned," Peggy said. "Would he be angry enough about that to try to kill you?" She didn't know him well enough to know if he would be that petty.

"I don't think so," Steve said. "I mean, I've known him for a while, and there's a lot of people who have pissed him off more than I have who are still alive." He yawned again.

"Has he ever gone up against your father?" Peggy wondered. "In anything?"

Steve considered. "I don't think so." Another yawn. "I wouldn't've thought he was the type to make a play for the kingdom. Although, if that was his goal, he went after the wrong son."

Peggy frowned thoughtfully. "It's interesting, James said just the same earlier."

Steve nodded, though his next attempt to speak was lost in another yawn.

"I think you need to go to sleep," Peggy said.

He nodded unhappily. "I think you're right." He looked up at her worriedly. "Wake me up if Bucky looks like he's going to do anything stupid?"

Peggy huffed a laugh. "I will." She stayed where she was, watching as he fell asleep. He was sleeping peacefully this time, and she instinctively reached up and brushed his hair away from his eyes. Before she had time to talk herself out of it, she leaned up and planted a quick kiss on his forehead.

Feeling the need to do something, but sure it wouldn't take long for whatever James was telling Uther to come to a head, Peggy set to tidying up the room. She packed away all her magical things first, then her medicines on top of all that, though she kept anything she might need for a fever near the top, just in case. She threw the remains of the dark spell into the fire where it couldn't hurt anyone, and it went up in a burst of orange light. She picked up the towels and blankets and other bits of detritus that littered the room after a long and fretful night, setting them in a pile in the corner to be taken away and washed.

The doors flung open and James burst into the room. "Is he okay?" he demanded, crossing quickly to Steve's bed.

"Nnh?" Steve mumbled, sitting up sleepily at the banging of the door against the wall.

James grabbed Steve by the shoulders, pulling him closer to get a better look at him. "Are you alright, Stevie?" His eyes shot over to Peggy. "Is he okay? Did anything happen?"

"Nothing happened, no," Peggy said. "Why?"

"Grand Duke Alexander," James said.

"What happened?" Steve wondered.

"He and Dad were in the council room, waiting for some sort of meeting to start. Dad said you must be doing better if I was coming in there, and Alexander had this…look. He was waiting for something, and me saying you were getting better definitely wasn't it." He looked at Peggy. "I don't know if I would have caught it if I hadn't known. Makes me wonder what else he's been hiding all these years."

"What happened then?" Steve asked.

"Well, he said something about how he was glad you were alright, and I just kind of lost it. I started yelling about everything that had happened—still leaving your magic out of it, don't worry," he assured Peggy. "I made it sound like you just did regular medicine and healed him."

"How did you explain the curse and how you knew it was Alexander?" Peggy wondered.

"I didn't, really," James said. "I just said it, and when I was done, Dad was looking at me like I was crazy, but Alexander…" James shook his head. "He just started laughing. Then he said I had done a great job figuring things out, but everything was already in motion and that revealing him wouldn't ruin his plan. Then he looked at me, and he looked at Dad, and he said, 'You're going to lose everything,' and then he did something with his hand and this big puff of smoke came up and he disappeared!"

Peggy blinked in surprise. "That is…Well, it's very dramatic, but that's some very impressive magic."

"I still don't understand why you're worried about me again," Steve said, stifling a yawn.

"Did you not hear what his last words were?" James demanded. He turned to Peggy. "How far away would he have to be before he can't curse Steve again?"

"Leaving in a hurry like that, I don't think he could do anything," Peggy said, tracking James's thought pattern now. "And magic generally requires a degree of proximity, but I'll check." Grand Duke Alexander was proving to be full of surprises, so while Peggy doubted he was cursing Steve from a distance, not making sure would be foolish.

She ran her spells with James looking on worriedly.

"He's fine," Peggy said. "I ran some other spells to check besides the main diagnostic one, after last time," she added. "Whatever the Grand Duke meant, he's not done anything yet."

James nodded, calming down a little. Color rose in his cheeks. "Sorry for waking you up," he told his brother. "You probably needed the rest."

"S'alright," Steve told him. "What happens now?"

"Well, Dad is…kind of exploding right now," James said. "But he's going to have me and the knights hunting him down."

"That's probably wise," Peggy said. "Whatever his plan is, you can't very well leave him alone to complete it."

"Can you do anything?" James asked. "We don't know where he is."

"Most of my experience is in healing," Peggy said. "But I know a few spells. I'll do everything I can."

James nodded. "Thanks. I'll see who I can leave here for running messages—I think we're going to be marching out before the end of the day. You two be careful here, alright?"

"We will," Steve said. "You be careful too, huh, Buck? This guy is…" Steve shook his head. "Please be careful. Make sure you come home." He sounded very young as he finished, and Peggy's heart ached in her chest at the worry in his voice.

"I'm always careful," James said, and he put his arms around his brother's shoulders and drew him into a tight hug. Peggy drifted off to the other side of the room to give them a moment, but she couldn't resist a quick sideways glance in their direction. They had their arms around one another, and James was resting his head on top of Steve's, stroking his hair gently as he whispered something in his ear. Steve nodded against James's chest, and James pressed a soft kiss into Steve's hair. They held on for a few more seconds before separating.

James moved for the door, then paused and took Peggy's hand. "Thank you," he told her again. "I can't ever thank you enough for what you keep doing for him. Take care of him while I'm gone? However you have to."

"I will, Sire," Peggy told him sincerely.

James smiled warmly at her and squeezed her hand. "Call me James."

Peggy smiled and nodded. "I'll take care of him. You be careful too, James."

He squeezed her hand again and left.

Though he was exhausted, Steve fought falling asleep again until they could hear the thundering of horses' hooves on the bridge. Peggy helped him up to the window, and they watched as James and the knights rode out across the bridge. The brilliant red of their capes fluttering behind them in the winter wind stood out in sharp contrast to the snowy grey landscape ahead of them.

"He'll be alright," Peggy said, helping Steve back into bed. "He's always come back in one piece."

Steve nodded. "Yeah. He's never gone up against a magician before, though."

Peggy nodded, tempted to offer some sort of platitude, but biting her tongue. It wouldn't help.

The next few days were long and tense. The castle was abuzz with the news about the Grand Duke, but it was a nervous sort of gossip. Messengers ran to and fro from the field daily, and while their search for the Grand Duke was as yet unsuccessful, it assuaged Steve's worry about James at least. For his part, Steve was healing. The fever was showing no signs of recurring, and his heart and lungs were working as they had been before. He still slept most of the day, however—the fever had been brief but violent, and his strength was slow in returning. Peggy had expected as much, but it still hurt to see it. It didn't help, she thought, that though he was sleeping frequently, he was sleeping badly. He was exhausted but worried, and his rest was uneasy. While he slept, Peggy did the best she could with her magic, but she was unable to trace where the Grand Duke might have gone.

Five days after the hunt had begun, the day's messenger was late in arriving. Tired though he was, Steve was dressed and waiting in the Hall with the king. Moving around the castle some made sure he was getting his exercise, and being in the hub of activity eased his worry a little. Peggy was, of course, close at hand the whole time. They had been there each day a messenger came back, getting the news and hearing what Uther had to say in return. It was possible today that the weather was slowing them down—it was utterly miserable outside, rain and snow and fog thick enough you could barely see the town from the castle windows.

When news did arrive, it was nothing any of them were expecting. Instead of one of the regular runners, the door burst open abruptly as Morita, Dugan, and Jack burst into the room, soaking wet and muddy and looking very much the worse for the wear.

"What's happened?" Uther demanded, standing up from his chair.

The three men came to a stop in front of him, Dugan bending almost double to catch his breath. "Sire," he began. "We…" He waved at Jack to continue, breathing hard.

"Sire, we found the Grand Duke and his men," Jack said. "They ambushed us at the base of the Smoking Mountains."

Peggy saw Steve swallow nervously at the use of the word 'ambush'.

"His men?" Uther said.

"Yes, Sire," Jack replied. "He has an army." He scowled. "The same men we've been fighting for months who've been raiding our villages. They're all riding under his flag."

There was silence for a moment as this sank in.

"Go on," the king commanded.

"We…" Jack paused, steadied his voice, started again. "Sire, the prince was taken."

"What?!" Uther roared. "Taken?!"

"Taken captive, my lord," Morita put in. "I saw him taken away—alive—with my own eyes."

This was evidently meant to help, but it didn't.

"And you're here?" Uther demanded coldly. "Your captain—my son—taken by the enemy, and you turn tail and run home?"

"We sent our best trackers after him, Sire," Dugan said. "Dernier can track a falcon on a cloudy day—if anyone can find the prince, he can. We left him to begin the hunt and several others besides to act as backup and to send any news, but we came back for reinforcements. We need more men."

The king's ire abated as quickly as it had risen. "Summon the rest of the knights," he said, waving at Jack, and Jack bowed and departed. "How large are the Grand Duke's forces? Do we need to call up the reserves?" he asked Dugan. The two of them walked away to the table where the king had been plotting the news from the messengers out on a map. Instead of following, Morita shot a significant look at Steve and Peggy. "Might I request the services of your healer, my lord?" he asked Steve, just a touch too loudly, like he was making sure Uther could hear him. "I don't want this wound to keep me from the search."

Steve looked confused for a moment, then seemed to catch on. "Of course," he said. "We'll see to it at once." They left for the corridor, the king barely giving them a second look as they passed. "What is it?" Steve hissed.

"Not here," Morita said, looking around nervously. "Behind closed doors."

They made their way quickly to Steve's chambers. Morita rushed to the fire as soon as they were inside, and Peggy closed and bolted the doors behind them. She gestured for Steve to take his seat by the fire, and he did absentmindedly, his eyes hanging anxiously on Morita. "What happened?" he demanded.

"We didn't exactly tell the king the whole truth," Morita said.

"James didn't really get taken?" Steve asked. "Or he…he's not—"

"No, no, he's alive," Morita assured him. "It's just…" He opened his mouth, then closed it with a sigh. "I hardly even know where to start. This was—he told me about the Grand Duke's curse on you, and that he had magic, but…"

"What happened?" Steve asked again.

"He did something to James," Morita said. "Something magic. It…Okay, so, what we said about being ambushed was true. The Grand Duke definitely has an army, and it's definitely the raiders we've been fighting all winter. They're wearing his standard now—that creepy snake like he has on his ring—but it's them. I recognized the guy who tried to cut me in half," he said with a scowl.

"Anyway, they attack us, and there are more of them than there are of us, but we're holding our own. Then Alexander shows up, but he just sort of…sat there on his horse watching? Like, we were all expecting him to throw some magic in there and beat us, but he didn't. I was beside your brother, and we started fighting our way over to the Grand Duke, but he just sort of smiled when he saw us coming. When we were close enough for voices to carry, he started talking, and…" He paused and swallowed hard. "I've never seen anything like what happened."

"What was it?" Steve prompted, when Morita seemed unsure how to go on.

"He started saying these words…I don't know what they were," he said, looking at Peggy. "They sounded like the same language you used when you healed me. I didn't know what they were, but he said them slow and loud and deliberate, one at a time. There were ten of them. He'd only said a couple, and James lowered his sword and started shaking his head, like there was something stuck inside it. Alexander kept going, and James grabbed on to the side of his head, like the words were hurting him. As far as I could tell, they weren't doing anything to anybody else, but James was on his knees screaming by the time he was done."

Steve was staring at Morita, open-mouthed and horrified. Peggy felt a sick knot twisting in her stomach.

"Then he said the last word and…" Morita shrugged helplessly. "James stopped screaming, and he got to his feet and just stared at the Grand Duke and…I don't think I'll ever be able to say what it was I saw in James's eyes, but I've never seen anything so wrong. And the Grand Duke smiled and looked at James and said, 'Soldier?' And James…" Morita stopped and swallowed. "He bowed, and said, 'Ready to comply'. Then Alexander nodded like this—" Morita twitched his head in a 'let's go' motion. "And James just, just walked right after him. I tried to stop him," he said, turning to Steve apologetically. "But it was like he couldn't hear me. Then when I grabbed him, he hit me, and I…" He gestured at his head. "I blacked out for a minute. They were gone by the time I woke up."

* * *

_Oh, snap. I guess that's not the end either. Tune in next week for some Medieval Winter Soldier and that declaration of love we've all been waiting for!  
_


	8. Forbidden Magic: Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go! Part Three! (Which I promise is the last one.) Medieval Winter Soldier to be figured out and love to be declared. And a camping trip to be undertaken, for those that have been waiting. (You know who you are.) Let's go.

* * *

_"I've never seen anything like what happened."_

_"What was it?" Steve prompted, when Morita seemed unsure how to go on._

_"He started saying these words…I don't know what they were," he said, looking at Peggy. "They sounded like the same language you used when you healed me. I didn't know what they were, but he said them slow and loud and deliberate, one at a time. There were ten of them. He'd only said a couple, and James lowered his sword and started shaking his head, like there was something stuck inside it. Alexander kept going, and James grabbed on to the side of his head, like the words were hurting him. As far as I could tell, they weren't doing anything to anybody else, but James was on his knees screaming by the time he was done."_

_Steve was staring at Morita, open-mouthed and horrified. Peggy felt a sick knot twisting in her stomach._

_"Then he said the last word and…" Morita shrugged helplessly. "James stopped screaming, and he got to his feet and just stared at the Grand Duke and…I don't think I'll ever be able to say what it was I saw in James's eyes, but I've never seen anything so wrong. And the Grand Duke smiled and looked at James and said, 'Soldier?' And James…" Morita stopped and swallowed. "He bowed, and said, 'Ready to comply'. Then Alexander nodded like this—" Morita twitched his head in a 'let's go' motion. "And James just, just walked right after him. I tried to stop him," he said, turning to Steve apologetically. "But it was like he couldn't hear me. Then when I grabbed him, he hit me, and I…" He gestured at his head. "I blacked out for a minute. They were gone by the time I woke up."_

* * *

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it, lost for words.

"The fighting started breaking up then," Morita added. "Like they'd done what they came for. Nobody but me saw what really happened to James. Everyone else thinks he was captured. I told Dugan, and we knew we needed to come back and tell you. The rest of the guys are back there patching themselves up, and we did send Dernier to try to track them down. Normally, I'd never doubt him, but with magic on the table, who knows?" He shook his head. "We need the reinforcements, but we didn't think the king should know about the spell. Who knows how he'd react to that kind of thing? But we thought if you knew…" He looked back at Peggy. "You're the best chance we have of bringing him home alive."

Peggy knew he was right, but the words still caught her off guard. "I…" she began, truly having no idea what to do. Morita was looking at her hopefully, but that was nothing on the beseeching trust shining brightly in Steve's eyes. "Tell me again," she told Morita, resolutely as she could muster. "Every detail."

Morita went over the story again, including everything he could think of. Peggy interrupted several times with clarifying questions, trying to get as much information as she could. Steve looked as though he was bursting with questions, but was restraining himself so he didn't distract her.

"Well?" Steve asked her when Morita had finished.

Peggy exhaled thoughtfully. "I've heard of this spell," she said. As Morita explained, it had woken something up in the back of her mind. "Only in theory," she went on. "When I was learning magic, we had lessons on dark spells and how to spot them, and this was one of them. It has to be that, only…" All of the details made sense, except for one, and she couldn't work it out. She stood up. "I'll be back. There's a book Erskine has, and I need it."

She knew Steve had wanted a more hopeful answer than that, but he nodded and turned his attention to Morita as she left. Erskine wasn't in his quarters—probably down with the king and the knights in council—but she knew where he kept his books, and it didn't take her long to find the old volume. She hurried back downstairs to where Steve and Morita were waiting, Steve asking all of the questions he'd been saving.

She blew the dust off the cover before coming to sit back down, then cleared a spot on the table for the large book. The cover creaked from disuse as she opened it. Steve and Morita stopped talking, watching as she scanned the table of contents, then flipped through the thick vellum pages. "Are you just going to watch me read?" she asked after a moment.

They shrugged apologetically, but kept watching. She supposed there wasn't much left to say on the topic of the spell until she finished her reading.

Though it had been years since they'd studied the spell, Peggy's memories were sound, and the details were just as she remembered them. Unfortunately, that was what she'd been worried about. "This is the spell," she said, tapping the page in front of her. "Everything you said happened, it's all here. It's just…I don't see how he could have done it."

"What do you mean?" Steve asked.

"Because what Morita saw on the battlefield was the end of the spell," she explained. "But there's a lot of groundwork to be laid first—it's a very complex spell. There was a lot Alexander would have had to do first, and he would have needed to be in fairly close proximity to your brother to do it. He couldn't just do the end of the spell and have it work like that."

"It did work like that, though," Morita said.

"I know," Peggy replied. "That's the part I can't figure out."

"What kind of groundwork?" Steve wondered.

"There's a series of spells he would have had to cast," Peggy explained. "The whole thing actually takes days to complete—weeks sometimes."

They were all quiet for several minutes, absorbing this information.

"How noticeable is magic when you cast it?" Steve asked.

"What?" Peggy said, surprised by the change in topic.

"I mean, when you do magic on me to heal me, I always notice it, especially that thing you do to make me start breathing again. That and the glowing eyes. But could you cast a spell on me without me noticing?" he wondered.

"I could," Peggy said. "Especially if it was something smaller. Actually, unless you're meant to feel the magic, most spells can't be felt physically if you don't know they're happening. Why?"

Steve frowned. "Well, if it's time and proximity you're worried about…Grand Duke Alexander has been around the castle since before James was born, and he's been sitting across the council table from him at least once a week for eleven years. If all he had to do was blink, or look down or something so no one would see his eyes glow…"

"Bloody Nora," Peggy breathed. "It would take him longer—a couple of years perhaps—because he'd have to cast the pieces of the spell in smaller increments, but…" She shook her head. "That has to be how he did it. If the spells were small enough, James would never have noticed."

"Not even after a couple of years?" Morita wondered.

Peggy shook her head. "No. The magic wouldn't actually be doing anything until Alexander did the last part. Once he had it set up, he could wait years if he wanted to, because the spell would lie dormant until he activated it."

"He's been playing a longer game than we thought," Steve said angrily. "This wasn't some recent fight with Dad or whatever that made him decide to try to overthrow things—he's been planning this for years."

Peggy gasped suddenly. "Bloody hell," she whispered.

"What?" Steve and Morita asked.

"I've just realized why he tried to kill you," Peggy said, looking at Steve. "Remember how James said when he confronted him that his response was that it was too late to stop his plan from moving forward?"

Steve nodded.

"That means that now was when he was planning to activate the spell on James. Everything else he was putting together must have been ready. So, he was planning to do this now, and the last piece before finishing the curse on James would be getting you out of the way…" She looked at Steve sadly. "If you had died, James's emotional state would have been a mess. As instantaneous as Alexander's control over him looked," she said, casting a quick glance at Morita. "I guarantee you James was fighting it. If he'd been grieving? He wouldn't have been in control of himself enough to put up any kind of resistance. He tried to kill you to make it easier to control James."

"So James might be able to break his way out?" Steve asked hopefully.

"On his own, it's unlikely," Peggy said apologetically. "It's a very powerful spell. But you being alive increases his chances, especially this early on. You might still be able to reach him." There were counter-curses, and means of magically undoing a spell like that, but they were difficult and time-consuming when cast on an unwilling participant—if Alexander had a strong enough grip on James's mind, they might not be successful. But to add in a bond like the one Steve and James shared—Peggy knew that what they had was something instinctive and primal, dwelling beyond James's conscious mind in places the spell couldn't touch—that might be enough to give her magic the edge it needed to break him the rest of the way out.

"Well, that's something," Morita said, though he didn't sound overly enthused. "It doesn't mean much if we can't find him, though."

"No," Peggy agreed.

He nodded and pushed himself to his feet. "Speaking of which, we're probably going to be moving out soon. We're trying to keep this curse thing under wraps to keep it away from Uther, but if there's no hiding it when we find him…The knights love James. All of us. He's not just our captain, he's a brother-in-arms. If we have to fight him to restrain him, we will, but killing him is the last thing anyone wants to do. Once we find him, can you be ready to go as soon as we can send a messenger for you?" he asked Peggy.

"I can," Peggy said.

Morita nodded. "Hopefully I'll see you soon."

Steve was quiet as he left. Something Morita had said struck Peggy, and she turned to look at Steve. "I understand why Morita and Dugan would want to keep this away from your father, but…Do you really think he would have James killed?"

Steve sighed heavily. "I don't know. I don't think so. He hates magic, but I don't think anything could make him kill Bucky. Not unless…" He sighed. "If he thought maybe it was the only way to save him—that dying was the only way to set him free…" He sighed again. "That might make him do it."

"Do you think that's Alexander's goal?"

Steve shrugged. "Maybe? Or maybe he wants to take over the kingdom, and he knows that if James was fighting for him, Dad wouldn't be able to fight back. Either way…"

"You're going to lose everything," Peggy quoted.

"Yeah," Steve sighed. He looked up at Peggy nervously. "You don't really think…You can save him without killing him, can't you?"

"I honestly don't know," she said. "This is beyond anything I've ever dealt with. But I have every intention of bringing your brother out of this alive."

Steve nodded, giving her a small smile. "Then he'll be alright. I trust you."

Peggy smiled, touched, but a knot caught in her throat. "Thank you," she said softly. "But I—this is so big, I—" She was going to do everything she could, but she hoped Steve's trust wasn't going to be misplaced.

"I trust you," he said again, more firmly this time.

She nodded, not sure of what else to say.

"What were you and Morita talking about while I was getting the book?" she asked after a moment.

"We were trying to figure out where they were," he said. He reached across the table and tugged one of the maps closer. "This is where they got ambushed." He tapped a spot on the map. "Morita said they were heading east when they left, but that doesn't mean much. They could easily have changed directions once they were out of sight."

Peggy nodded thoughtfully, frowning at the map.

"What?" Steve asked.

"It can't be a coincidence that Redhaven is on the other side of those mountains," Peggy said. "Not as often as that village keeps coming up."

"I thought that too," Steve said. "But what do you think it means?"

Peggy's mouth dropped open as lightning flashed across her brain. "I've just remembered where I've heard the name before," she said.

"Where?" Steve asked.

"When I was studying magic—it was part of magical history," she said. It had been years ago, but she could recall the lesson now, clear as day. She could see Michael seated beside her on the log by the well, and her friend, Caroline, on her other side, poking holes into the ground with a stick while Erskine was talking animatedly as he paced back and forth in front of his students. "Years ago, hundreds and hundreds of years, before Camelot was even a kingdom, there was one of the most powerful magicians the world ever saw," Peggy recalled. "He was evil, though, not just using his powers for selfish gain, but for spreading pain and terror. No one now knows his real name, but he called himself the Red Skull. And he had a group of followers who called themselves Hydra. Their emblem was a snake."

Steve's eyes widened. "Like Alexander's ring."

Peggy nodded. "The Red Skull was eventually defeated—the battle was long and bloody, but eventually, he lost. Not all of his followers were killed, though. There's always been stories, legends among magicians, about Hydra slithering up to the surface again."

"How does this tie into Redhaven?" Steve wondered.

"That's where his fortress was," Peggy said. "In the side of the Smoking Mountains. Deep places in the earth hold magic, and there used to be a stronghold built into the side of the mountain. They called it Redhaven."

"And the village?"

"The village is where part of the stronghold used to be," Peggy said. "Erskine brought it up as one of those odd little quirks of history—the people living there now have no idea what the land they live on used to be."

Steve was quiet for several minutes, absorbed in his thoughts. "Bucky said they kept running into those raiders around Redhaven—if those men were Alexander's, maybe they were there so often because it wasn't far from home. Is the stronghold still there?"

"The ruin of it," Peggy said. "Outside the mountain, in any case. No one ever knew how deep into the mountain the fortress went. It could well be an active military base."

"We have to tell Dugan and Morita," Steve said, pushing himself to his feet. They hurried as fast as they could go back down to the Hall, but as they reached the bottom of the stairs, they could hear the thundering of horses' hooves. Rushing to the window, they saw the rest of the army riding away into the fog.

Steve sighed deeply beside her, and Peggy deflated for a moment in defeat before pulling herself back upright. "We can send a messenger after them," she said, resuming her journey for the Hall.

"No," Steve said. He nodded to himself as if coming to a decision, then turned and started going back up the stairs.

"No?" Peggy repeated, surprised. She hurried to catch up with him. "Steve, what are you doing?"

"I'm going after him myself," he declared.

"Steve, you can't do that," Peggy said reflexively.

"Why not?" Steve asked, not slowing his pace.

"Steve, you're in no condition," she said, placing a hand on his arm. She understood where he was coming from, but even if Steve had been healthy, she would have been reluctant to send him out in this weather.

"You said it yourself—I'm the best way of reaching him," he replied. "That means I have to be there."

"Once they find him, they're going to bring him back here," Peggy pointed out.

"If they find him," Steve said. "They don't know where to look. Sending messengers, then waiting for them to find Bucky and bring him back, that will just waste time. Time Bucky might not have—you said the longer he's under this spell, the harder it will be to undo. And what if they find him but can't bring him back? What if it turns into a fight, and he hurts someone, or someone has to hurt him?" He shook his head. "No. I'm going."

"Steve, the journey alone could kill you."

"So, what, I just sit here nice and warm by the fire and wait? No. He would risk his life for me. I can do it for him."

"Steve—"

"I'm going, Peggy," he growled. "You're not going to stop me. If you're that worried about me, then come with me, but either way, I'm going."

"Steve," Peggy said. "I was going to say alright. You're right that you're his best chance. But we need a bit more of a plan than just riding off to Redhaven."

"Oh. Like what?"

"I need to talk to Erskine," she said. "If I'm going to try to break this spell, there's more I need to know. You see to the supplies—food and whatever else you think we'll need. I'll meet you back in your room."

"Okay." The hard lines on his face softened. "Thank you," he said.

Peggy nodded and turned back down the stairs, looking for Erskine in the Hall. The war council had broken up with the departure of the knights, but Erskine and several of the other advisors were still there, talking with the king. Peggy was brought up short for a moment at the look on Uther's face. His treatment of magicians had meant she'd never thought kindly of him, even before she'd seen the way he treated his youngest son. But right now, she couldn't find it in her to feel anything but sympathy at the despair on his face.

She lingered near the door until she was able to catch Erskine's eye. He nodded, though it took him several minutes to excuse himself from the conversation. In hushed tones, Peggy told him everything that had happened as they made their way to his quarters.

He was worried, Peggy could tell, but he was smiling proudly at her. "You were always one of my brightest students," he told her. "I'm glad to see your mind remains as sharp as ever. Yes, everything you've said makes this whole event make much more sense." He shook his head sadly. "I blame myself for not recognizing Alexander for what he was earlier."

"You couldn't have known," Peggy said.

"He's had the king's ear for such a long time," he insisted. "There have been decisions Uther has made in the past that seemed very out of character for him, many of which have ultimately benefited the Grand Duke. When one throws magical influence into the arena, the answer becomes blindingly obvious."

Peggy considered this. "You've been around the palace a long time." Even back when he'd been teaching them magic, he'd played an advisory role to the king, sneaking away for their lessons. "Do you think…Do you think Alexander's magic has played any role in the king's feelings towards Prince Steven?" Erskine arched a curious eyebrow, and Peggy quickly told him the suspicions Steve had shared with her about his mother's death.

Erskine sighed heavily. "That boy is too smart for his own good sometimes. I wish it wasn't so, but the prince is right," he said. "Uther has held Igraine's death against him for twenty-five years—there was magic involved to save his life, and the queen did pay the price for it."

"Did she and the king know it would happen?"

"No. I know the king well enough to say that, unfortunately, his feelings toward his son are his own. Whether they have been deepened by Alexander's influence to cause some sort of rift…" He shrugged. "Who is to say?"

"What happened to the magician?" Peggy wondered. "The one who saved the prince and killed the queen?"

"Oh, he was the first one executed in the Great Purge," Erskine told her.

"Hmm," Peggy frowned. She had wondered if Alexander's influence had stretched back even that far—though she couldn't see what he would have had to gain by making the very arts he practiced illegal—but it would seem not.

They reached Erskine's quarters, and he moved to the shelves lining one wall and began pulling things down. "I see you've already taken my book on dark spells of the mind; good—you'll know what you need to do, then."

"In theory," Peggy said. "I've never done a spell like that before."

"You can do it," Erskine said. She opened her mouth, and he held up a finger to cut her off. "I don't say this to give you false hope. I say this as someone who watched you study magic for ten years. I know what you are capable of. It will be difficult, but this is something you can do."

Peggy nodded gratefully, and he returned to his digging. "It will take you a few days to get to Redhaven," he said. "Especially with this weather and the speed Prince Steven will be able to travel. You should take these—" He tossed several rolls of parchment in her direction. "—and read them when you're camping for the night. The information in them will be very helpful to you." He moved from the shelves to a wooden chest under a blanket. "As for these…" He stepped back towards her with two pendants in his hands. One was a golden eagle almost the size of her palm, and the other was a deep blue jewel, about the size and shape of an eyeball. "I don't know what you're going to find on this journey, but perhaps these will help you." He slid the blue jewel off of its chain and attached it so that it hung alongside the eagle.

"These are filled with magic," he told her. "Reserves of power to help you when a spell is too big for you. These are hard to come by since the Great Purge, and though their power is considerable, it is finite, so use them wisely."

"Oh, no, I couldn't take those from you," Peggy said instinctively.

"Yes, you can," he told her. "And you will. I've been saving them for a time of need, and I can think of a need no greater." He held the chain out to her, and Peggy hesitated a moment, then slipped it around her neck. She could feel the magic waiting inside the pendants, humming sleepily against her chest, but only needing the smallest spell to spring to life.

"Thank you," she said gravely.

He nodded. "I do not envy you your task," he told her sadly. "To say the fate of the kingdom rests on this is not an exaggeration. There is much you need to do. Bringing Prince James home is not enough—you must restore his mind to him, and you must survive the process and facing Alexander so that you can help him heal afterwards. You must also continue to do what you have proved so adept at doing—keeping Prince Steven alive."

"Of course, I—"

"I say this not only for the prince's own sake," Erskine interrupted. "Prince Steven deserves to live. But more than that, he _needs_ to live. James has the makings of a great king, a better king than his father could have ever been. He is the king that Camelot needs, but James needs his brother if he is going to be that king. James is a good man, but there is enough of his father in him that without his brother's influence, he cannot be the king I have foreseen."

"That you've foreseen?" Peggy asked.

Erskine huffed a laugh. "Why do you think I've lived in the palace all these years? You think I enjoy wondering if each day will be the day I die a horrible death because someone discovered who I really am? I am here to do everything I can to make sure what I saw comes to pass. I'm too old now for more than offering advice, but now that the time for action has come…" He smiled warmly at her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Now I put my trust in you."

Peggy swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. "I won't let you down, sir," she said at last.

He squeezed her shoulders once and let go, still smiling proudly. "I know." He huffed another laugh. "You'd better get going. Before Steven becomes impatient and sets out on his own."

Back downstairs, Steve had indeed nearly finished gathering everything they would need to go. Peggy went and changed from her court clothes into something more suitable for travelling in poor weather. She rolled up some extra layers into a small pack, then decided it would be wisest to take her whole medicine chest, instead of guessing at what she might need and regretting it later.

In the stables, they loaded Onyx and Lily with their supplies. Lily seemed to have a bit of cabin fever and trotted happily in the direction of the door, but Onyx eyed the freezing sleet and turned her head back to give Steve a disdainful snort.

"Come on, girl," Steve told her, scratching her behind her ears. "You know I wouldn't make you go out in that unless it was really important." Onyx snorted again. "I'm counting on you here," he told her, and Peggy could hear some of his worry leaking out in his voice. "Please."

Onyx made a nickering sort of noise and started moving for the door.

"That's my girl," Steve said, patting the side of her neck.

There was very little point in conversation once they got outside—even riding side by side, the wind whisked their words away. Peggy ducked back underneath her cloak to stay as warm as she could. For all that visibility was poor, they made decent time out of town and through the fields until the road branched off in the opposite direction of where they wanted to go and they had to turn off into the countryside. Things slowed then, then some more as they reached the woods. Here there was at least some shelter from the wind, but it was no less freezing.

The light started to go, and Peggy pulled Lily to a stop in a place that looked good for camping. "There's still time before dark," Steve protested.

"Yes, but we don't want to set up camp in the dark," Peggy pointed out. "It's going to get even colder after the sun goes down; we want to be well sheltered by then." She understood Steve's desire to press on, but they weren't going to save anybody if they froze to death.

Begrudgingly, Steve nodded and circled Onyx back to hitch her next to Lily. He dismounted a great deal less gracefully than he usually did—away from the warmth of the castle, the pain in his joints would be increasing with the cold.

Steve started the fire while Peggy gathered some larger branches to prop their tent up. Putting the cover over it was a two-person job, made more difficult by the fact that Steve could barely move his hands at this point. They finally got it up, and Peggy sent him inside to change into something dry, setting up some sticks along the fire to hang their wet things on and giving the fire a bit of magical help to make sure it didn't go out any time soon. Then she changed as well and brought her things to hang by the fire where Steve was attempting to cook dinner.

They huddled together next to the fire as they ate. The rain and sleet had cleared up, leaving a gorgeous scattering of stars across the night sky in their wake. The starlight shone off the snow on the tree branches and the silky black of Onyx's coat, and it was…well, had they not been hunting for a dark wizard, it would have been rather peaceful.

"Sorry it's not very good," Steve said, nodding at their dinner. The stew was on the burnt side even though the vegetables managed to be somehow undercooked, but Peggy hadn't been planning on mentioning it. "I, ah, I don't camp a lot."

"Or ever?" Peggy teased, not unkindly.

His cheeks reddened, but he smiled. "Or ever," he agreed.

"It's food and it's warm," she assured him. "Night like this, that's all I'm after. Thank you for making it."

He smiled and nodded.

After they ate, she got up to get her medicine chest. "Has the fire helped with your joint pain at all?" she asked.

"A little," he said, moving his fingers gingerly.

She nodded and handed him a vial, and he drank it down after struggling with the cap for a moment. She sat back down beside him and put her hands on his face—the only part of his skin not covered up—and ran all of her diagnostic spells to see how he was doing. His lungs were straining and his heart was too, so she gave him more medicine than she did in a usual evening and cast a quick spell to clear up his airways.

Peggy did a bit more magic to make sure the fire wouldn't go out in the night, and added some extra heat to make sure the horses stayed warm, then they retired to the shelter. "There's not a lot of room in here," Steve remarked as Peggy settled down into the pile of blankets that made up the floor.

"No," Peggy agreed, realizing where this was going. "And this is no time to be a gentleman about it. Both of us might very well freeze to death unless we share our body heat." She lifted the corner of the blanket. "Get under here."

Very red in the face, but unable to argue, Steve nodded and did so, and Peggy blew out the candle. Once settled, he still seemed to be trying to leave as much space as he could between them, so Peggy looped an arm around his waist and tugged him over so that he was lying up against her.

Steve gave a little squawk of surprise but said nothing, just shifted a bit to get more comfortable. "Thank you for doing this," he said after a moment.

"It's not entirely altruistic," Peggy told him. "If we weren't doing this, I'd be cold too."

"No, I didn't mean just that," he clarified. "Although, thank you for that too." His voice sounded like he was blushing. "I meant thank you for coming with me."

"You're welcome," Peggy replied, suddenly fighting down the urge to lean forward and kiss the top of his head. Several silent minutes passed, then she said, "We're going to find him, Steve. We're going to fix this."

She felt Steve nod. "I know," he said softly. He drew in a deep breath. "Doesn't stop me from worrying about what might happen to him before we get there."

Peggy wasn't sure what to say to that, so she just hugged him a little closer. Despite the many things she had on her mind and the fact that she was lying on the ground, it had been a tiring day, it was warm inside their little roll of blankets, and it wasn't long before she fell asleep.

When she woke up, the shelter was filled with the soft light of early morning. Sleep appeared to have dispelled Steve's discomfort over their sleeping situation, as he had rolled over to face her and flung an arm over her side sometime in the night, snuggling against her and resting his head on her shoulder. Although there were rather a lot of layers between them, Peggy thought that he fit against her very nicely, and she tightened the arm she had around him without really thinking about it. She supposed she should get up and do something about breakfast, but she was very comfortable right here. A few more minutes wouldn't hurt anything.

The sunlight coming into the tent was a little brighter the next time she woke up, and Peggy sighed and reluctantly wriggled her way out of the tangle of blankets and Steve. She really should do something about breakfast, and nature was calling rather urgently. Bloody Nora, it was cold outside!

By the time she stoked the fire back up, Steve was awake, and she wondered if he was embarrassed about the night before—he came out of the tent to stand awkwardly by the fire instead of sitting beside her on the log. She also couldn't help noticing how stiffly he was moving. "Are you in pain again?" she asked him.

"Kind of," he said.

"Steve, I appreciate that you don't want to appear as though you can't do this, but I would hope by now you've realized you don't have to prove yourself to me," she told him. "I'm not going to make you turn back, but I need an honest answer if I'm going to help you keep going. Are you in pain?" she asked again.

His cheeks flushed scarlet, but he nodded. "Yes," he admitted. He sighed. "I woke up when you got out from under the blanket, but it took me this long to get up." He nodded at the log she was sitting on. "I'd come sit with you, but I don't know if I can bend that way."

Peggy nodded sympathetically. "Let me have a look," she said, getting up and removing her gloves so she could touch his face and do a diagnostic spell. It was just the cold—or, perhaps, _still_ the cold—and sleeping on the ground hadn't helped the stiffness in his joints. She muttered a quick spell that sent some warmth into his body, then steered him over closer to the fire.

"Thanks," he said. "I'm sorry I'm so…" He couldn't seem to find the word he wanted to finish with, but Peggy got the gist.

"It's no trouble," she told him. She placed a bowl of oatmeal in his hands and smiled. "Eat your breakfast."

They had breakfast and fed the horses, then packed up camp and loaded up. Yesterday's rain and sleet had gone, but the fog and the wind persisted. Steve kept them on course, and Peggy kept an eye on Steve. She worried about his lungs in air like this, and they stopped several times more than he thought they needed to, to just breathe, let her run her checks, and do a bit of healing magic. By late afternoon, he was wheezing something awful, and Peggy insisted that they stop and set up camp. He didn't argue as much as she would have expected.

He was so stiff in dismounting from Onyx's saddle that he would have fallen if Peggy hadn't been there to grab his arm. "You come and sit by the fire," Peggy told him. "I'll get the tent up."

"It needs two people," he protested.

"I'll manage," she told him. And with a bit of magic, she did. She changed into her clothes from yesterday, and brought today's out to dry by the fire. Steve was still sitting there, his eyes shining in the firelight. "Are you alright?" she asked him. He nodded a bit tightly, but didn't say anything. He looked exhausted and miserable.

Peggy helped him to his feet and into the tent. "I don't…" he began. He sighed deeply. "Can you help me change?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper. "My hands aren't…"

"Of course," she said. She stripped him of his wet things quickly and professionally and helped him into dry trousers and shoes. "Can you lie down?" Peggy asked him, setting his shirt to the side. "We'll see if we can't do something about this pain."

He looked confused, but he complied, lying down on his stomach on the rug across the bottom of the tent. Peggy pulled some ointments from her medicine chest and rolled up her sleeves and started to work her hands across his back and arms. As she massaged him, she magicked a bit of heat into her hands, working it down into his body along with the salve. At first it was like massaging a rock—a cold rock—but after only a few minutes the stiffness faded away and his muscles were warm and yielding under her fingers. He groaned incoherently into the floor once or twice as she worked a particularly tough spot, but it soon gave way to snoring, and Peggy smiled fondly. She finished her work, feeling warmer herself for the exertion, and covered him up and tucked him in securely.

Back outside by the fire, she pulled Erskine's scrolls from her bag and read through them, absorbing everything she could about spells that affected the mind, and the sorts of things to be aware of when trying to break them. She read through them all once, and there was a lot of useful information in them. When she tried to start going through them again, however, she had trouble focusing. Her mind drifted back to Steve, sleeping in the tent. It was little wonder he looked so miserable—he was in pain, he was freezing, and he was still recovering from his ordeal with the fever. He'd never had to live hard like this, and it was taking its toll on him, never mind the fact that he was worried nearly to the point of making himself ill again about his brother. Despite all of that, Peggy couldn't suppress a smile—he was pressing on and doing what needed doing, not afraid to ask for help but not complaining either. She'd known him for a while now, but she couldn't pretend she wasn't impressed.

"Hey," he said, breaking her train of thought as he came out of the tent. He'd managed to dress himself the rest of the way, and he was moving less awkwardly now.

"Hello," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he said. He smiled. "Thank you." He came and sat beside her. "Are you okay?"

"I am, yes," she said. "Why?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "You're tougher than I am, but this is a hell of a trip. Aren't you tired?"

"I am," she said. She grinned. "That's why I haven't started on dinner yet. I was saving it for you—make you pull your own weight."

Her teasing tone had its desired effect, and he laughed. "Masochist," he said.

Dinner was just as bad as the night before, but, again, it was food and it was warm. And for all that he couldn't make stew, he made a very good cup of tea. As if by unspoken agreement, they didn't talk about their mission as they ate, huddled together against the cold. After dinner, Peggy asked him to tell her more about James.

"Why?" he asked. "Will that help you with your magic, knowing things about him?"

"It might," Peggy said, and it might well do that, though it hadn't been what she intended. "But really, I just wanted to know." And she suspected Steve wanted to talk about him. "Tell me about the two of you when you were younger."

After thinking for a minute, Steve did so. After he told a story about the time the two of them climbed up on the castle roof and got stuck, Peggy told him a story about how her brother had wanted to explore down into the well outside of Erskine's house, just to see if he could get in it, followed by the story of how she had to rescue him. They passed stories back and forth until the last glimmer of sunset had faded from the sky.

Peggy packed up the remains of dinner while Steve checked on the horses. She pulled several medicines from her trunk for him to take—not just the usual nightly potions for his lungs and heart, but more medicine for his joints, and a couple of different mixtures to help ward off any sort of fever, and whatever it was that was making him wheeze and start to cough. After making sure the fire would stay going all night for the horses, they retired to the tent. Steve blushed a little, but he crawled under the blanket with her willingly enough, and he made no objection when she wrapped an arm around his waist. "Comfortable?" she asked him.

"Yeah," he said. "I—Yes. I'm good."

"What is it?" Peggy asked, wondering what he'd been going to say.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head.

"What?" Peggy teased, poking him in the side.

"I was just, I was going to say this is…it's…well, it's kind of nice, is all. I mean, you know, it's warm, and everything, and…yeah."

"It is nice," Peggy agreed with a smile. She felt a bit bad for teasing him, but he was awfully cute when he got all flustered like that. Although, there was that urge to lean forward and kiss him again, this time just behind his ear. "Good night, Steve," she told him.

"Good night," he replied.

Peggy didn't fall asleep as quickly as she had the night before, but Steve did. Utterly spent, he fell asleep almost immediately, and Peggy smiled as he drew his hand forward in his sleep to grasp the one she had holding him against her. She decided what the hell, and she kissed him lightly behind his ear and closed her eyes, listening to him breathe as she fell asleep.

She came awake slowly, warm and content, and she realized after a moment that the hand in her hair wasn't hers. Puzzled, she opened her eyes. It would seem Steve wasn't the only one who became more uninhibited in his sleep—she had pulled Steve even closer to her in the night, and while that might be written off as an attempt to keep warm, she didn't know if she could say the same about the way her face was nuzzled into the crook of his neck. Steve evidently didn't mind, as he had responded by stretching his arm up and tucking his hand against the side of her face, pressing her cheek against his and twisting his fingers into a lock of hair that had escaped her braid. His skin was warm and soft, and at this distance, she couldn't help but be entranced at how long and soft his eyelashes looked. She wondered what they would feel like fluttering against her cheek, then closed her eyes and scolded herself. He was the prince and she was nothing close to royalty—that sort of thinking wouldn't do.

She should probably get up—although it _was_ terribly comfortable—then Steve drew in a deep breath and shifted, his eyes coming open slowly. "Hi," he said with a sleepy smile.

"Good morning," she replied, smiling back.

He came a little more awake, realized where his arm was, and pulled it back. "Sorry," he said, color rising in his cheeks.

"It's alright," Peggy said. She gave his waist a quick squeeze to remind him where her hands were and that he wasn't the only one who got clingy in their sleep. "I don't mind."

He smiled at her, soft and warm and still a little sleepy, and Peggy thought she wouldn't mind seeing that smile more often.

He was just as stiff in getting to his feet as he had been the morning before, perhaps even more so, and Peggy did the spell to warm him up as soon as he was vertical. Along with breakfast, she gave him the same array of medicines she had the night before. Today looked as though it would be free of rain, but the wind was bitterly cold. Before putting the tonic for warding off the chill away, she took a bit of it herself—they were all going to be in trouble if she came down with something.

Their morning went on much as yesterday's had, and the terrain grew rougher. It was turning out to be a good thing that Onyx was such a big horse—she could navigate her way up and around rocks and branches without much difficulty, and she picked her way up the rocky, snowy side of the hills they crossed fairly independently, freeing Steve up from having to try to steer her. She was also tall enough to clear a path through some of the deeper snow drifts for Lily, who didn't share her height.

Peggy couldn't see too much in the fog, and so she was content to let Lily follow Onyx, which worked until she nearly ran smack into her about an hour after stopping for lunch. "Careful!" Peggy said. The ground was slippery and not suited for quick stops. "What is it?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," Steve said. He patted Onyx's neck. "Something's spooked her." He was peering into the canyon in front of them like he was trying to see through the fog. He looked back at Peggy. "Can you tell if there's anything wrong? You know, magic-wise?"

Peggy pulled Lily up so she was even with Steve and scanned the area in front of them. "I can't sense anything," she said after a moment. "I would think we're a bit far out from Redhaven to feel anything like that yet." They weren't expecting to get there until some time tomorrow.

Steve nodded. "Keep an eye out as we go, huh? Something's wrong."

Peggy nodded, and they moved forward carefully. Steve had one hand on the reins and one hand on his sword. Peggy kept her eyes and ears open for any sign of trouble, but all she could hear was hooves on rock and the sound of Steve trying not to breathe too loudly. Onyx snorted unhappily, and whatever it was was bothering Lily now too. "Should we turn around?" Peggy wondered.

"This is the only way through this part of the mountains," Steve said. He cocked his head, sniffing the air. "Do you smell that?"

Peggy sniffed experimentally, not noticing anything at first, but then the breeze shifted. "That smells like blood," she said.

Steve nodded. "She probably smelled it back there," he said, patting Onyx's neck and nodding back behind them. "But I think if there was an animal or something up here, she'd be putting up a lot more of a fuss," he went on, answering the question Peggy had been about to ask. He looked over at her grimly, and she nodded and they moved forward slowly.

Rounding a bend in the rocks, the smell of blood on the air grew stronger, and Peggy spotted something red that stood out through the fog like a beacon. "Steve!" she gasped, and she pressed Lily forward faster. The red was the cape of a knight of Camelot, and it was underneath a body lying in the snow. She was already jumping down from her horse and kneeling down in the snow as Steve pulled to a stop behind her and dismounted more cautiously. Peggy quickly ran her hands over the knight, checking for any sign of life, but it was no use. His cape wasn't the only red standing out against the snow. Crystals of blood frosted his body and the snow beneath him.

"He's dead," Peggy said softly. She looked up at Steve. "Who was he?" He wasn't one of the knights she recognized.

"Arthur," Steve said, his voice tight in his throat. "Arthur Collins." He swallowed hard and nodded for her to turn around.

She turned, then she gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. Arthur wasn't the only knight lying in the snow. There were more—Peggy counted eight of them lying among the rocks. She and Steve rushed to check each one of them, but they were all dead, and for some time too, if Peggy had to guess. At least a day, maybe more.

"Peggy!" Steve called fearfully. She hurried over to the knight he was kneeling beside, and her eyes went wide. It was Dugan. "He's breathing," Steve whispered. "He's breathing; Peggy, help him!"

It wasn't much, a barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest, but he was breathing. They dug him out of the snow and Peggy set to examining him. His wounds were deep, but the way he had fallen into the snow had saved him—his blood had slowly frozen as it came out and actually sealed up the wounds, keeping him from bleeding out. It was still killing him, of course, and he wouldn't have lasted the night, but it had kept him alive long enough for her to get there.

Some very hasty, careful magic had everything knitted back together again, and he groaned. She followed that up quickly with the warming spell she'd been using so often on Steve. "Dugan?" Peggy asked, placing a careful hand on his chest. "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah," he groaned. He opened his eyes and looked around. "Am I dead?"

"No," Peggy assured him.

He looked at her, then at Steve, then down at his no-longer-bleeding-midsection. "I'd ask what you were doing here, but thank you seems more appropriate," he croaked.

"You're welcome," Peggy said. "Let's get you up out of the snow."

It took both her and Steve and one of the horses to get him upright, but they managed. "What happened?" Steve asked.

Dugan looked at Steve sorrowfully. "We found James."

Steve's eyes widened and his head snapped around to view the bodies scattered across the snow. "Where? I didn't see him—"

"No," Dugan said, shaking his head heavily. "We weren't bringing him back. He did this."

Steve's jaw dropped open, and Peggy felt a sick knot twisting in her stomach. She'd been hoping desperately that they would find James before something like this happened.

"We'd split up into several teams to search," Dugan explained. "Yesterday, my group ran into him—he was with Alexander, and we thought with nine of us and two of them, we could get him." He sighed deeply and looked around. "The rest of them are all dead, aren't they?"

Peggy nodded. "You only survived because the cold slowed down how fast you were bleeding."

"Bucky did this?" Steve asked disbelievingly.

Dugan nodded grimly. "I've never seen anything like it. He was always one of the best swordsmen in the company, but there are several of us who could make him work for it. This…It was like he wasn't even trying. And look at this," he said. His hands went to his stomach, pulling open a tear in the chain mail that gaped open over where his wound had been.

"Enhanced strength is another spell that would have gone along easily with the first one," Peggy said almost to herself, brushing a hand over the torn links of metal.

"He plowed through nine of us like knocking over scarecrows," Dugan went on. "Barely even broke a sweat." He shook his head. "And he didn't respond to a word we said—like he had no idea who we were." He added this last part softly, and Peggy remembered him saying he'd known the prince since childhood.

Steve seemed unable to speak, but he moved forward mechanically to help Peggy as Dugan staggered to the side. "Easy," Peggy said, getting under Dugan's shoulder. "Let's find some shelter." A quick search turned up a nearby cleft in the rocks, sheltered from the snow and wind and reasonably dry. She used magic to start a fire, and Dugan sank down in front of it gratefully while she and Steve huddled in close.

"Sorry," Dugan said. "You just healed me; I don't know why I'm so tired."

"I couldn't heal everything," Peggy explained. "You lost an awful lot of blood, and it will take some time for your body to replenish that."

Dugan frowned thoughtfully. "Morita got up alright after you fixed him."

"He wasn't lying in the snow for a day before I healed him," Peggy pointed out. "And I might also point out that he sat still and rested for a few hours before actually getting up—we had to take the time to act like I was doing surgery, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," he said. He sniffed thoughtfully. "So, what are you two doing here anyway?"

"Looking for the prince," Peggy said when Steve still didn't seem inclined to speak. "We realized that it's likely the Grand Duke is holed up near Redhaven, and if we can find James…It took magic to do this to him, so it will probably take magic to undo it. And if he sees Steve…" She didn't finish the thought, but she didn't have to, because Dugan was nodding, somewhat to her surprise. Then again, maybe it wasn't surprising. He'd known the princes since childhood, after all.

"If anything could get through to him, that might." He leaned forward and grabbed Steve's arm, pulling him back into the conversation. "Listen. I know James did this, but I also know what I saw in his eyes. He's not himself right now. I don't hold him responsible for their lives, and I don't think they would either—that's all on Alexander. It wasn't your brother that did this."

He let go of Steve's arm and sat back, and Steve gave a small, jerky nod.

"You're right about Redhaven too," Dugan said. "There's nowhere else around here they could be."

"Can you ride?" Steve asked.

Dugan shook his head at the same time Peggy did. "No," he said. "I don't have the strength to stay on a horse for long, and if we ran into trouble…" He shook his head. "I'd only be in the way."

Steve nodded, and Peggy could see that he was torn between the need to take care of his friend and the need to find his brother.

"Look," Dugan went on. "Leave me here." He raised his hands to cut off Steve's protest. "No, listen. You leave me this magic fire, and I'll be plenty warm. Leave me a sword, and I can scare off anything that tries to mess with me. If I'm feeling better soon, I'll follow after you, and if not, you can pick me up on your way back home."

"We can't—" Steve protested.

"I'll be fine," Dugan cut him off. "It's your brother who needs you now. Brute force didn't work to snap him out of it, but you've got something different. The two of you…" He paused here to nod at each of them. "I think you can do this." He waved a hand in the direction of Redhaven. "If you go now, you ought to make it to the foot of the mountain before dark."

Peggy nodded, seeing the wisdom in this plan—it would be too late to attempt to breach the stronghold tonight, but if they made it to the bottom of the mountain, tomorrow they could start right off with their mission, instead of having to travel some more. "I can make the fire strong enough not to go out on him," Peggy told Steve, who still seemed unsure. "And I can even put up a warding spell or two to protect him."

"Alright," Steve sighed. "If you're sure," he said, looking at Dugan.

"I'm sure." He nodded gravely. "Go bring him home."

They got Dugan situated with the fire and a sword, and Steve gave him some of their food while Peggy cast her warding spells. Then they set off again.

The rocks blocked most of the wind, but they still rode in grim silence. Peggy couldn't imagine what was going through Steve's mind. She knew his brother was a capable warrior, and she assumed Steve had seen at least a bit of that, but she had only ever seen James's gentler side. She couldn't picture the same man who had cradled his dying brother in his arms and whispered soft words into his ear tearing through nine fully armed men with enough ferocity to shred chain mail.

They rode until the light began to go, finally reaching the base of the mountain. A knot of trees gave them a place to camp, and they dismounted and started setting things up. There wasn't much to see beyond the firelight, but a feeling of foreboding hovered over them in the dark. It hurt just watching Steve move, but he brushed off her concerns and helped her get the tent up and secure it. They ate quickly and retired to the tent without saying much.

"Can I work your joints again like I did last night?" Peggy asked, pulling out some of her ointments. Steve nodded and pulled off his shirt stiffly, staring ahead grimly as he lay down on his stomach and she started her work.

"Thank you," he said after several quiet minutes, and though he sounded distant and far away, Peggy couldn't help smiling just a little. He was wrapped up in his own concerns, but still unable to ignore someone else's efforts.

"You're welcome," Peggy said, then, softly, "I'm sorry."

She felt a shudder run through the muscles under her hands. "Will he remember what Alexander made him do?" he whispered.

Peggy's hands stilled for a moment. "Probably," she said quietly. She poured a bit more salve on her hands and started again, working the potion and the magic deep down into Steve's muscles—he was going to need to feel as well as he could for tomorrow.

"That's going to kill him," Steve breathed. "Knowing he did that to his own men…"

"It wasn't his fault," Peggy said.

Steve nodded. "I know. But I know him—he won't see it that way."

Peggy's left hand slid up and gripped Steve's shoulder, and she squeezed it warmly. "No," she agreed. "But that kind of compassion makes him a good man. And I think time…There's a lot that time can heal. And love," she added, squeezing his shoulder again. "They can heal a lot that magic can't touch."

Steve nodded into the ground. Peggy finished up her work, Steve dressed again, and they climbed down into their pile of blankets and blew out the candle. Steve lay there for a long time, quiet but too tense to be asleep, and Peggy wished there was something she could do.

"What if he doesn't recognize me?" Steve whispered, so quiet that Peggy would have missed it if he wasn't so close.

"He will," Peggy said.

"How can you know that?"

Instead of replying right away, Peggy reached up a hand to Steve's shoulder and rolled him so that he was facing her. She couldn't see him in the dark, but she imagined his eyes were shining with worried tears. "Because you belong to a part of him that goes deeper than magic can reach. You remember how I told you about the enormous scales of life and death sort of magic?"

She felt Steve nodding.

"That's the sort of magic it would take for him to forget you," she said. "It might take him a while to realize it," she allowed. "But he can't ever forget you completely. Not while there's still breath in his body. I believe that with all my heart." She pulled Steve forward, cradling his head under her chin, and instead of pulling away, Steve folded into the embrace like a child, wrapping his arms around her and holding on as if he was afraid to let go. "We can do this, Steve," she said. "We can do this." She wasn't sure how yet, but she had the magic to fight, and Steve would die before giving up, and between the two of them, they would work out a way.

Steve nodded, but said nothing, cinching his arms a little tighter around her. He was trembling a little, not with the cold, Peggy knew. She brought one hand up to his head and stroked his hair gently, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. He shook and she tried not to, faced with the enormity of what she knew she was going to face tomorrow and just how much of it was resting on her. Cold and frightened but together in the dark, they fell asleep.

The next morning dawned grey and chilly, clouds above heavy with the promise of rain. Steve groaned in pain when he tried to sit up, and it took the medicine and the massage and the warming spell to get him moving again—it would have done even if he wasn't donning chain mail over his traveling clothes today.

"How am I going to do this, Peggy?" he asked, packing away the dishes from breakfast. "I can barely move; what am I supposed to do against dark magic?"

"Steve, anyone else in your condition wouldn't even be out here," Peggy told him. "You should have died countless times over by this point in your life, but yet, here you are, because you are too bull-headed to let something so immaterial as the laws of nature tell you what to do."

He smiled at that in spite of himself.

"Whatever it is that's kept you alive for twenty-five years will get you through this now," she went on. "You may need to not leave your bed for a week after we get back to the castle, but you can do this."

"You really think so?"

"With all my heart," she said. She gave him an encouraging smile. "I've never admired anyone's determination more."

His eyes widened in surprise, then he blushed and nodded and didn't seem sure of what to say.

"Let's get a move on," Peggy said, sparing him having to come up with a response, and he nodded again.

Thunder rumbled above them as they rode, but the clouds held back their rain. It was a short journey from the foot of the mountain to where the ruins of the old stronghold began. At first it wasn't much—a crumbled bit of wall here, or an eroded piece of road there. But soon they began to see the remains of battlements and towers, dark stone standing out ominously against the mist and snow.

"Do you feel that?" Peggy asked. This was a place that had known magic; dark, powerful magic that lingered in echoes in the rocks and whispers in the air.

"You mean that feeling like something is creeping up my spine and yelling in my ear for me to run away?" Steve asked. "Yeah."

"It's magic meant to keep people away," Peggy said. "And this place is holding the shadows of some very old magic, but that spell is new," she said.

Steve caught the significance of what she was saying at once. "So we're in the right place."

"We are," Peggy agreed.

"I would have expected, you know, guards and things," Steve said.

"Yes," Peggy agreed. "Perhaps the soldiers are out terrorizing a village, or fighting the rest of the knights. Or perhaps Alexander doesn't think he needs them."

Steve nodded, and they continued on carefully. Soon they came to a path among the ruins, a path that was smooth and well-used. A path that led up to an opening in the side of the mountain.

"That'll be it, then," Peggy said. She looked at Steve. "I have no idea what we're going to find in there."

He nodded grimly. They dismounted, but didn't tie the horses up. "Onyx will wait for me," Steve said in answer to Peggy's questioning eyebrow. "But if something happens to us…If she's free, she can find her way home. Lily will follow her."

Peggy nodded. Steve checked his sword, and Peggy pulled a few things she thought might be useful from her medicine chest and packed them into her satchel, then patted the pendants Erskine had given her that were tucked inside her collar to make sure they were secure.

"Hey, um, before we go in," Steve began. "What you said before about me being determined and you admiring that and everything…"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. I…That you would say that is…Thank you. And I, well, I hope you know that stubborn as I am, I wouldn't've ever made it here without you. That you've stuck by me like this, well, it means an awful lot to me," he said, and though there was color in his cheeks, his eyes were blazing sincerity. "I wanted to make sure you knew that."

Peggy smiled warmly at him, and she wasn't sure what to say, so she nodded.

"Ready?" Steve asked.

"Ready," she replied. "Let's do this."

The path up to the opening was well-used, but it was slick with ice, which meant there had not been great quantities of people using it this morning. Peggy didn't know if that meant the soldiers were all inside and hadn't come out, or if they were all out somewhere and hadn't returned. She hated to think of the damage they might be doing if they were out, but it would certainly make their job easier if they were gone.

Steve seemed to be thinking the same, and he held his sword at the ready as they approached the door. No one was waiting inside, and there was no spell barring the way, so, very carefully, they slipped inside.

"That seemed awfully easy," Steve said.

"I suspect that either that spell that was making you want to run away would negate the need for a regular guard," Peggy said. "Or, we're walking into a trap."

"Or both," Steve said. "On the plus side, it's warmer in here." Out of the wind and protected from the snow, it was that. Not warm enough that Peggy felt the need to shed any of her layers, but she wasn't shivering anymore, which was nice. They were standing in a large antechamber of rough-cut stone. A set of torches burning on the wall was proof that the old stronghold was inhabited once again.

There was a door opposite the one they had come in, and they warily made their way toward it. On the other side, they stopped and gaped at the sight before them. A vast cavern opened up in front of them, with towers rising up out of the floor and stone stairways and bridges connecting them to one another and running over the river that flowed across the bottom of the massive chamber. All of it was lit by torches burning brightly along the sides of buildings and along walkways. "It's like a city," Steve breathed, looking over the structures before them and shaking his head.

"When Erskine talked about the Red Skull having a fortress in the mountains, I never thought it would be like this," Peggy said, shaking her head. She'd been picturing something smaller and more militarily functional. This place was easily twice the size of the town around the castle.

"I'm guessing we want to head that way," Steve said, pointing to the tower in the middle. It rose up above the buildings around it, dark and heavy and imposing. Carved into the outside of it was a massive relief of snakes, twisting and writhing around one another and the building in a way that made them seem as though they were actually moving.

"I would imagine so, yes," Peggy said.

They made their way forward carefully. For all that the stronghold seemed deserted, it didn't soothe Peggy's nerves in the slightest. She kept expecting something to jump out at them from around every corner. Though they were moving quickly, it took them some time to get to the tower in the middle, and she started to wonder just what exactly they thought they were going to do. This place was absolutely massive. It would take them forever to search.

"I think we're on to something," Steve said, pointing at the ground in front of them. For the first time, Peggy saw evidence that someone else had been here—a footprint in the dirt of the floor. Several, actually, heading the same way they were going. As they followed the footprints, they spotted the occasional dark stain on the ground that Peggy suspected was dried blood. Whoever they were following seemed to have been injured.

The end of the trail led to a gated door into the tower. She and Steve circled the building, but found no other way in—not that they had really been expecting one. "Right," Peggy said, studying the gate thoughtfully. "With all the magic I can feel in the air, it's likely our presence has not gone unnoticed, but if it has, this is about to give it away," she said. She could open the door with a simple enough spell, but anyone watching for that sort of thing would detect it easily. "Are you ready?"

Steve nodded, and she cast a spell to counter the one holding the gate closed. There was a clanking sound inside the walls, and the gates swung open on silent hinges.

Light sprang to life as they stepped inside until the room was ablaze with torchlight. Instead of more of the dark stone like they were expecting, they were standing in a grand hall of gleaming white marble and gold. Rich velvet curtains hung over doorways that led to other parts of the tower. Above them was an ornate chandelier, glittering with the light of a thousand candles.

"Huh," Steve said. "Not exactly what I was expecting."

"No," Peggy agreed. "Although, I suppose, why shouldn't a dark wizard with delusions of grandeur have his own palace?"

Steve inclined his head in agreement. "It's a little overdone," he said, eyeing the walls. Just in case the carving on the outside of the building had left any room for doubt, Hydra's snake theme was clearly on display here. The walls were lined with paintings and sculptures of their emblem, the twisting snakes reproduced in gold, silver, bronze, marble, oils, fresco, wood, and stone, over and over and over again. Even the chandelier, upon closer inspection, turned out to be made of thousands of bronze snakes twisting around one another.

"The Red Skull was known for his lavish tastes," came a sudden voice from the other end of the hall. "I haven't had time to redecorate." Standing in the doorway was the Grand Duke Alexander. He was wearing a dark grey tunic with a silver snake across the front, and his hand was resting on the handle of the sword on his belt. He was staring at them the way a scientist might study a particularly interesting specimen.

Peggy felt Steve stiffen beside her, and a shiver ran up her own spine. The gate behind them closed again, rather more loudly than it had opened.

"I can't say I'm surprised that you would come here, Your Highness," Alexander said to Steve, a mocking emphasis on the title. "Though I _am_ surprised you actually survived the journey."

"I'm not that easy to kill," Steve said.

"You certainly are a hardy little thing. Like a cockroach," he chuckled. "No doubt that has a great deal to do with your Lady Magician here," he said. He looked over at Peggy and spread his hands wide in what might have otherwise been a welcoming gesture. "My good Lady, of all the people I have underestimated, you are the most surprising. I knew you had magic from the moment I saw you, but I didn't dream of the breadth of your talents."

"You knew about me?" Peggy couldn't help asking.

"Of course."

"And you didn't turn me in?"

He smiled. "I would never turn another magician over to be executed. Not without a good reason, anyway. And it served my purpose for you to keep him alive a while longer," he said with a nod at Steve. "Although, had I known you would have the skill to save his life last week, I would have picked a different method." His smile turned predatory. "Still, it worked out in the end."

"What did you do to my brother?" Steve demanded.

"Manners, Your Grace," Alexander said with a disapproving _tsk_. He waved a hand and Steve made a choking sound, suddenly unable to speak. "It's rude to interrupt when other people are having a conversation."

"I don't think I have anything else to say to you," Peggy said, casting a quick sideways look at Steve to make sure he was still breathing alright.

"I still have things to say to you, though," Alexander said with a smile. "You defeated my spell once and you managed to keep him alive all the way here—you are a woman of considerable talent. I could use someone like you."

Peggy's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Are you…Are you asking me to _join_ you?"

"I am extending the invitation," Alexander said. "There would seem to be a lot you know, but there is so much more you could learn. You would be someone worth teaching. And you can't tell me you enjoy living in fear for your life every day." He gestured to his own chest. "A new order is on the way. One where someone like you could be celebrated, rich and powerful, never mind not having to hide."

"Inviting as that future may be, I can't say I approve of your methods," Peggy said.

He chuckled. "If you want to build something new, you've got to have a strong foundation. And that requires getting down in the mud and getting dirty."

"There's not just dirt on your hands, but blood," Peggy replied.

Alexander laughed again. "Oh, more than you know. So, that would be a firm 'no', then?"

"It would."

He nodded, not seeming bothered. "I thought as much. But it seemed polite to offer. Looks like I'll be adding to the blood on my hands today, then." He raised a hand and snapped his fingers, and with a rustle of the velvet curtain behind him, James was standing by his side. He was dressed in Alexander's colors, though he wore chain mail over his tunic. A sword hung from his belt. The left side of his face was covered in a fading purple bruise, and it occurred to Peggy that he had not returned from his battle with the knights unscathed. Perhaps it was his blood that had dotted the path with the footsteps they followed. The most alarming thing about his appearance, however, was his face. Peggy suddenly understood what Morita had meant when he said he'd never seen anything so wrong—his face was devoid of any expression, but his eyes…those soulful blue eyes that should have mirrored his brother's were cold and hard, completely lifeless and yet simmering with rage at the same time.

"Bucky!" Steve called, evidently allowed to speak again.

"Oh, he doesn't answer to that anymore," Alexander said, and it was true, James hadn't even twitched. "In fact, he doesn't answer to anyone but me."

"What did you do to him?!" Steve growled.

"I fulfilled his destiny," Alexander said with a smile. "Your brother was always meant to belong to me."

"What do you mean?" Steve asked.

"Hydra was always going to rise again, but my ancestors never had the patience to play the long game," Alexander replied. "Simply defeating those who oppose you is never going to be enough—beaten men who still have their comrades can rise again to claim victory. That's where the great Red Skull went wrong," he said with a wave of his hand that took in the fortress around them. "To truly win, you must tear them apart so completely that there is nothing left to rebuild." His smile widened. "And that is where James Pendragon comes in. He is the key to Camelot's future, but also to its ruin."

"The ruling family of Camelot is held together by the slenderest of threads," Alexander explained. "Uther nearly went mad when Igraine died, and he pinned all his hopes on his beloved firstborn—his last connection to a happier time." He smiled cruelly at Steve. "You were the one who brought that happier time to an end. The first crack in Camelot's foundation appeared when you were three weeks old, and it's only been widening since. I barely had to do a thing. You might as well have died with your mother for all the faith Uther has ever been able to put in you. All that remains for me to do now…" His smile widened and he rested a hand on James's shoulder. "Is to pull out the last piece. The Pendragons are about to burn to the ground, and Hydra will emerge victorious from the ashes."

Steve was glaring at the Grand Duke, swallowing down a knot in his throat, but a light was coming on in Peggy's head. "You're one who killed the queen, aren't you?" Perhaps he hadn't done so directly—Erskine had said the magician responsible had been killed at the start of the Great Purge—but all his talk of playing the long game and cracking the Pendragons' foundations could hardly mean anything else.

Alexander laughed. "Oh, you _are_ a clever girl," he said. "It's really a shame you don't want to work with me. The things I could do with a mind like that."

"So what you said before about not handing other magicians over to be executed wasn't exactly true, then?"

"I believe I said I wouldn't do so without a good reason," he corrected. "Setting my plan into motion was a more than adequate reason for the sacrifice. And he went willingly, pledged to die for Hydra's cause."

"How in the hell does getting magic banned from the kingdom help you?" Steve wondered. Peggy had been about to ask the same thing.

"It was worth it for the end result," Alexander said. "Uther was almost comically easy to manipulate with Igraine out of the way. Half the time, I didn't even need magic. And twenty-five years of performing magic in secret is more of an inconvenience than an actual problem when you look at the bigger picture. Besides," he said, smiling wickedly. "Think how grateful the magicians of the realm will be when I bring magic back to the land."

"Even though you were the one who caused it to be banned in the first place?" Peggy asked.

Alexander shrugged theatrically. "They don't need to know that part. And no one is going to be around to tell them—while this has been fun, I do have a revolution to attend to." He looked at James and waved a hand in their direction. "Kill them both."

James had been standing at attention almost as still as a statue, but now he sprung forward like a cat, sword raised. He'd covered half the distance between them before Peggy had even registered that he'd moved, and she reacted on instinct, flinging up a shielding spell. He hit it and flew back into the wall, but was back on his feet as quickly as if he'd been tossed into a pile of hay, not a slab of marble.

Alexander laughed. "A worthy effort, good lady, but I think you'll find he cannot be stopped by something so immaterial as pain," he said as James charged them again. "You'll have to try harder than that."

"Bucky, stop!" Steve yelled. "Stop it, please, it's me!" The only thing that saved him was some instinct to pull his sword up to block his brother's weapon, because James did not slow down. The force of the blow threw Steve to the floor, and Peggy threw another wave of magic at James to push him back and give herself time to yank Steve to his feet. She didn't throw him hard enough to hit the wall, though—they were trying to save him, after all, and just because he couldn't feel pain didn't mean it didn't damage his body.

"Run!" she yelled, pulling Steve up and along behind her. They needed space to pull themselves together and come up with a plan if they were going to have any hope of pulling this off. She pulled him to the nearest staircase and they hurried up, Alexander's laughter echoing behind them and James's feet following after.

James caught up with them three times, and Peggy tossed him back each time. Each time, Steve pleaded with him to stop, to no avail. The third time James attacked, Peggy threw him through an open door, slamming it shut and magically locking it. His sword instantly began hacking at the wood, accompanied by an animal growl, but it bought them time to get up another flight of stairs and into another room where they could barricade the door shut.

Steve was gasping for air and turning a worrying shade of grey, and Peggy quickly did the spell to open up his airways again. "Sh!" she cautioned as he gulped in a mouthful of air. "Breathe as quietly as you can."

He nodded, inhaling as silently as he could until he caught his breath. "He didn't recognize me," he whispered.

"No," Peggy whispered back. "His mind is too focused on its task in the heat of battle. We need to create a scenario where we have more time."

Steve nodded. "What about the magic? Can you undo it?"

"Again, I'm going to need time," Peggy said. She had sensed the curse on James, and even at a quick glance, she could see it was an intricate web threaded throughout every fiber of his body. If she was going to undo it, she needed to be able to focus solely on that, and not on trying to keep from getting her head cut off.

Steve nodded. "So, we need to immobilize him somehow." He looked around. "Ideally, in here, since we aren't likely to get another shot at hiding if we leave."

They considered the room they were in. It was a study of some sort—shelves of books lined the walls, and the large desk and chairs had been shoved up against the door.

"How long do you think we have?" Steve wondered.

"I would imagine he's out by now. Probably searching the floor we left," Peggy guessed. "I wouldn't think we'd have more than five minutes before he works out we went up."

The furniture shoved against the door rattled, and they both jumped.

"Or less," Peggy said, swallowing nervously. "Bloody Nora, he's fast."

"Can your magic hold him?" Steve asked as James slammed into the door again. "Like how you threw him back earlier, can you just…hold him there?"

Peggy nodded. "Start talking as soon as I catch him," she said. "I don't know how long I can do it." They'd seen already that he could simply power through things that should hurt him, and she didn't doubt he could fight his way out of her holding spell.

They backed up to the far wall, watching as the barricade against the door juddered again, one of the chairs falling away. With another shove, the door opened about a foot, forcing the heavy table back. James slammed into it again, and then there he was, advancing on them with sword raised.

Peggy flung up a spell to hold him in place, and he twisted angrily, snarling at them as his feet refused to move. "Bucky?" Steve asked cautiously, moving forward.

He snarled again and swung his sword out, though Steve was still out of reach.

"Bucky, it's me; it's Steve," he told him. "You know me, Buck. Come on; look at me."

James roared and lunged forward, ripping himself out of the holding spell and stumbling forward. He was off balance, so his sword missed Steve, but he caught him in the side of the face with his fist and Steve crumpled to the ground.

"Steve!" Peggy called, flinging up another spell and catching James again. He was caught mid-lunge this time, one foot on the floor and one up in the air.

"I'm okay!" Steve said, shoving himself back to his feet. "Buck, come on. I know you're in there," he pleaded. "You know me."

"Shut up!" James growled, swinging his sword again and missing Steve by millimeters.

"No," Steve said, stepping closer. "No, I won't shut up. I never have when you've told me to before—what makes you think I'll do it now? I'm going to keep going because I know you can hear me. I know you're in there."

James struggled against the spell and managed to take a step forward, bringing him within closer range of his brother as he slashed with his sword again. This time he didn't miss, and Steve fell to the floor with a cry of pain. Peggy redoubled her efforts to hold James back, but she sensed hesitation in his struggle as Steve cried out.

Steve seemed to have sensed it too, because he shoved himself up to his knees, clutching at his wounded arm. Fear and pain tinged his voice, but so did conviction. "Please, Bucky," he begged. "You know me. And you don't want to hurt me, do you? Wake up, Bucky, come on. I believe in you. You can do this, Buck."

James swung at him again, but was held back by the spell. "Why do you keep calling me that?" he demanded.

"Because that's your name," Steve said, getting back up on his feet.

"No, it's not," he snarled.

"It's not 'soldier'," Steve said. "Or whatever Alexander calls you. Your name is James Pendragon, and you've always been Bucky to me. Ever since I learned how to talk, that's what I called you. Do you remember that?"

James was struggling a little bit less now, though his gaze was no less murderous.

"It was the first word I ever said," Steve went on. He stepped closer to James again. "You were so proud that you were my first word that you told me to always call you that. Remember?"

James flung himself forward with an inarticulate growl, launching himself out of the grip of Peggy's spell and straight at his brother. The jolt of breaking free of the spell knocked his sword from his hand, but he swung with his fist again before she could catch him, and Steve went down in a heap. "I'm not Bucky," he snarled.

Steve was a little slower and shakier in getting to his feet this time, but he got there. "Yes, you are," he said softly, drawing a hand across his nose to dash away the blood. "You're my brother, and you're always going to be. No matter what Alexander put inside your head; no matter what he's made you do. You're always going to be Bucky, and nothing can change that. You just have to remember."

"All I know is that I'm supposed to kill you," he hissed, and Peggy had to fight to keep her hold on him.

"But you don't have to," Steve insisted. "And I know you're in there and I know you don't want to. You've never wanted to hurt me. You've always looked out for me, and now I'm here to take care of you. It's going to be okay, Bucky. It is. You just have to wake up."

The first flicker of something that wasn't that cold, dead anger glinted in James's eyes.

"Please, Bucky," Steve said, his voice wobbling just a bit. Tears of pain and sorrow were brimming in his eyes. "Please come back," he pleaded. "Come back to me. I need you. I need my brother."

Uncertainty was dancing across James's face now. He mouthed something that looked like the words 'my brother'.

"Come on, Buck," Steve said, stepping closer and putting his hands on James's arms. James reacted with a roar, lashing out and throwing Steve to the ground again. His lip was bleeding when he got up. "You can throw me down all you like, but I'm not going to stop," Steve said. "I'm never going to stop. Because you're the one who taught me how to get back up again. I can do this all day."

He stepped forward again, and James's fist tightened, then unclenched. "I—"

"You don't want to hurt me, do you?" Steve asked.

Anger lit James's face up again, but it was chased away by that growing look of uncertainty. His fist clenched and unclenched again. "I—"

"Do you?" Steve pressed.

"No," James whispered. Fear joined the uncertainty on his face, as though he wasn't sure why he'd said that.

Steve smiled warmly and gave him an encouraging nod.

"I…I know you," James said, not sounding sure about that.

"That's right. You do," Steve said. "And you know my name, don't you? What is it? Tell me my name."

James shut his eyes and shook his head. "I don't…I…" He opened his eyes. "Steve," he whispered. "You're Steve."

Steve grinned. "That's right. I'm Steve." He looked over at Peggy. "Let him go."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Peggy said. James wasn't fighting her anymore, but he clearly wasn't himself. The way his fist was still clenching and unclenching, Peggy wouldn't put it past him to take another swing at Steve.

"It's okay," Steve told her. "Trust me."

After hesitating a moment longer, Peggy nodded and let go. James staggered a little as he regained his center of balance, but he didn't make any moves toward Steve. Steve stepped forward, one hand raised, and James watched it warily until it came to rest on his arm.

"Steve?" he asked softly, and something that was very much James flickered to life inside his eyes.

"Yeah," Steve said, smiling warmly. "Yeah, Buck, it's me. I'm here."

James almost smiled, then horror washed over his face and he pulled both arms up and shoved Steve away. "Don't touch me!" he yelled as Steve staggered back and hit the floor.

Steve was on his feet and moving for his brother again, and Peggy had her hands up and ready in case he got violent again. "It's okay, Buck," Steve said calmly. "It's okay."

"No," James shook his head, backing up a couple of paces with one arm raised to ward Steve off. "No. You stay away. I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," Steve said, still moving forward. "It's okay."

"I already did," James whispered, his eyes on the blood on his brother's face.

"That wasn't you," Steve told him. "That was the spell. You would never hurt me."

James groaned in pain and sunk to knees, clutching at the sides of his head. The spell was fighting to regain control of him, and his eyes were flashing back and forth between a very frightened James Pendragon and a very angry Hydra soldier. "What's happening to me?"

"You've been cursed," Steve said, dropping down to his knees beside him. "It was the Grand Duke Alexander—he put a spell on you, but we're going to fix it, okay?"

"No," James moaned. "No, Steve, get away from me. I can't hold it, I—I don't want to hurt you again."

Steve put his hands on the sides of James's face, tilting his head up to look at him. "I'm not going anywhere," he said firmly. "I am never, ever going to leave you. Never. It's gonna be okay."

James stared at him for a long moment, tears shining in his eyes. "Okay," he whispered.

"Okay," Steve said, smiling warmly.

He turned and nodded at Peggy. James's gaze followed Steve's as Peggy stepped forward, and as soon as his eyes landed on her, that lifeless anger was back and he threw himself at her with a growl. Thinking Steve had gotten him calmed down, she hadn't been expecting that, and she hit the ground hard, the breath going out of her as James landed on top of her. She was fighting back before he could get both of his hands around her throat, however, and she hit him hard with a burst of magic that flung him into the wall and pinned him there.

"Bucky, no!" Steve was screaming as he jumped, though Peggy already had James against the wall before Steve was all the way on his feet. He turned worried eyes to Peggy. "Are you okay?" he asked, stepping forward with a hand raised toward her neck, like he needed to check and make sure.

"I'm fine," she said.

His eyes lingered on her a moment longer, then he nodded and turned back to his brother. "Bucky?"

"I have orders," James said, struggling to get out of Peggy's holding spell.

"You don't have to follow them," Steve said. "You weren't gonna hurt me, remember? You don't have to hurt her either. This is Peggy. You remember Peggy?"

James turned his head to look at her. "No," he said coldly.

Steve looked surprised, but considering how deep the spell went, Peggy wasn't. James didn't have nearly the history with her that he did with Steve. She should have expected that.

"Okay," Steve said. "But she won't hurt you. She's a friend."

"She's my target," James insisted, one hand breaking free of the holding spell and swiping at her.

"Alright," Steve said, drawing in a deep breath. He gave a sharp nod. "Alright. Fine." He moved over so that he was directly between James and Peggy, drawing himself up to his full height. "You want to get to her, you're going to have to go through me."

"What?" James said.

"What?" Peggy echoed.

"If you want to hurt Peggy, you're going to have to hurt me first," Steve said.

"But," James began, looking for all the world like a confused child instead of a deadly warrior. "But I don't want to hurt you."

Steve nodded. "I know you don't. So that means you can't hurt her."

"I…" James stammered.

"Trust me, Bucky," Steve said.

James blinked at him sadly. "Okay," he whispered.

Steve smiled and Peggy carefully released her hold on James. He sank down until he was sitting in a little ball against the wall. "I don't understand," James said, grabbing at the sides of his head again. "I…aahh, my head," he groaned.

"It's okay, Buck," Steve said, dropping down next to him again. "It's going to be okay."

James looked up at Steve, fear and pain swimming in eyes that were still clouded by magic. "Steve, I'm scared," he breathed, his lower lip trembling.

Steve wrapped his arms around James and pulled him in against him, tucking his head under his chin. "I know," he whispered, his own voice no longer steady either. "I know. But it's going to be okay. I'm here." He closed his eyes and pressed a kiss into James's dark hair. "Your brother's got you."

Tears prickled in Peggy's eyes as the reversal of the tender scene from last week played out before her. Steve looked up at her with pleading in his eyes, and she nodded and stepped forward again.

James looked up at her uncertainly, but he stayed where he was.

"She's not gonna hurt you, Buck," Steve assured him. "I'm not gonna let anybody hurt you."

James nodded, and though he flinched when Peggy first touched him with her magic, he remained in place. Peggy could see why he was afraid of her—she'd been right that James had tried to fight Alexander's control, and the Grand Duke had responded with several nasty, painful spells to force him back into line.

"Don't worry, James," she said in her soothing healer's voice. "I'm not going to hurt you. This is going to make it all better." As a show of good faith, she pushed a little bit of healing magic into him, and the bruise on his face disappeared. He blinked at her in surprise, then took one hand off of Steve to reach up and prod gently where the bruise had been. "Will you let me help you?" she asked.

James looked at her, then nodded slowly.

"Good," she said, giving him a friendly smile. "I'm going to ask Steve to move away now, so that his being so close won't interfere with the magic I'm going to do," she said, keeping her eyes on James but knowing that framing it like that would get Steve to let go. "Don't worry," she assured James. "He's not going far. He'll be just here, waiting for you when you're done. Alright?"

James nodded nervously, and Peggy slowly began her work. She closed her eyes, shutting out James's frightened face and Steve's worried, trusting expression. She focused only on the magic she could see. A light that was James glowed brightly in front of her, but it was woven through with strands of darkness that dimmed the light. The darkness was oily and viscous, not unlike the spell she had pulled out of Steve a week ago—there was just so much _more_ of it here. It wound its way through James's body, intertwining with his bones and lacing through the pathways of his mind until there was not a part of him left untouched. Alexander truly was a powerful magician, the strands of magic twining through James and into each other in such a way that there was no weak point for her to begin to take it apart.

Or, rather, there wouldn't have been, if not for Steve.

Once again, Peggy marveled at just how deep the connection between the brothers ran. Because there in the middle, right where the magic was strongest and where, if one was feeling poetic, one might think of as the place where the soul rested, there was a hole. The frayed strands of magic warped and folded outward, stretched to breaking by something that had been trapped beneath them that they could not contain. It was a tiny hole, but it was still a hole, and all Peggy needed was one loose thread.

She plucked at the frayed edges, making the hole bigger. It was hard going at first as the spell fought her, but the damage had already been done. She picked at the threads, pulling here and untying a knot there, and the darkness began to unravel. Soon she was able to grab several of the threads into a bundle, and she pulled at it. Slowly, she worked her way through James's body, uncoiling the little knot of threads from every part of him that they wrapped around. When at last that set of strands was free, she pushed some of her own magic into them, and they dissolved harmlessly into the air.

Returning to the hole in the middle, she picked at another section of threads and started again. Over and over she did this, untwisting the little knots of magic. She felt herself growing tired, but she didn't stop, drawing on some of the power in the eagle pendant to keep going.

It seemed like an eternity later when it was all gone—and for all Peggy knew, it had been—but she didn't stop just yet. If she left even one little thread of the dark magic behind, that would be all Alexander would need to bring the rest of it back and regain control. She drew more magic from the eagle and sent it searching through every cell of James's body, snatching up and unraveling the last little bits of darkness.

When she was positive that she'd gotten it all, she opened her eyes and let go. James was staring at her blankly with his mouth hanging open, and when she pulled the last little bit of magic out, his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed into a heap. She staggered back a step and sat down hard on the floor, suddenly no longer able to keep standing. Steve was watching them both with wide eyes, looking terrified and frozen with the indecision of which of them to go to after they both dropped to the floor.

Peggy managed to wave an arm in James's direction, hoping that would convey that she was fine, just tired. Steve moved toward James, still watching her worriedly until he reached his brother, then he crouched down beside him and began to examine him. Seemingly satisfied with what he found, he pushed up and moved over to where Peggy was sitting.

"Are you okay?" he asked, crouching beside her and resting a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm alright," she assured him. "That was just more magic than I've ever done at one time. I could fall asleep right here on the floor if that wasn't such a colossally bad idea."

Steve managed a bit of a smile at that.

"How long did that take?" she wondered.

"About fifteen minutes," Steve replied.

Peggy's eyes widened in surprise. "Is that all? It felt like forever."

"Well, it sure was the longest fifteen minutes of my life," Steve said. He looked back over at James. "Did you get it all? Is he going to be okay?"

"The spell's gone," Peggy said. "There's a lot he has to heal from yet, but he's free."

Steve nodded. "Thank you," he told her, his voice wobbling with sincerity. "Thank you."

She nodded, smiling warmly. For a moment, they simply sat there looking at each other. "Let me go ahead and get you sorted out, then," she said, lifting a hand up to his face. The side of his face where James had struck him was already turning a dark shade of purple, the cut across his cheek leaking blood as the skin swelled up and pulled away from the edges of the wound. Tacky, semi-dried blood covered his upper lip and part of his chin, and Peggy didn't miss the way he barely used his left arm where the sword had gotten him, though how deep of a wound that one was remained to be seen.

"No," Steve said, pulling out of reach. "I'm okay."

"Steve, you look dreadful."

"I'm alright," he insisted. He looked at her sadly. "You worked so hard to take care of James; I don't want to make it worse. I'll manage."

"Steve, I'll be fine. It's a small amount of magic compared to all of that," she said, waving a hand in James's direction. When Steve looked as though he was going to protest again, she said, "James is going to have a hard enough time as it is when he wakes up. Think how badly he'll feel when he looks at you and is reminded of what he did." It was a bit of a low card to play, but it worked, and Steve nodded.

The bloody nose and bruises were a cinch to fix up, and even the cracked cheekbone underneath the bruise, but she couldn't stop herself rolling her eyes when she got to his arm. "You're an idiot, you know that?" she told him. With magic, it was a simple enough wound to fix, but left alone, he would have started feeling the effects of the blood loss soon. "Were you just going to tie that up when you thought I wasn't looking and hope for the best?"

"Maybe," Steve mumbled.

"I'm half-tempted to leave it. Serves you right if you get gangrene," she snapped.

"I'm sorry," Steve said. "I am! I just…Peggy, what you just did was one of the scariest-looking things I've ever seen, and you're still as white as a sheet. I didn't want to make it worse."

Her glare softened, touched by his genuine concern. "Thank you," she said. "I appreciate the concern, but I need you to trust me to know what I can handle."

"I do," Steve said. "I'm sorry."

He let her heal the wound in his arm, then she pulled a bit more magic from one of the pendants so her hands would stop shaking and she could get up to check on James. "Oh," she breathed sadly as her hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"What? What is it?" Steve asked.

"He's just…" Peggy sighed. "I can't imagine the pain he's been in. The curse kept him fighting through it, but that fight with the knights and whoever else Alexander has sent him after? He came out of it injured. The spell just forced him to carry on." She shook her head, wondering if Alexander had been intending to do any sort of healing work on his new soldier before attacking Camelot, or if he'd simply planned to have James fight until he dropped.

"Will he be okay?" Steve asked worriedly.

"He will," Peggy said, reaching out with her magic to heal his battered body. "It will be a long recovery ahead of him. But I think if you could get him through this, you can pull him through that," she told Steve with an encouraging smile. Her work done for the moment, she sat back, and they both watched James sleep, the pained lines in his face disappearing.

"So, uh, what happens next?" Steve wondered. "Alexander is still out there somewhere."

"Yes," Peggy agreed. "And he's bound to notice soon that something has gone wrong."

Steve nodded. "So, how do we fight a magician?" He looked at her thoughtfully. "How was the Red Skull defeated?"

"A wagon wheel to the back of the head, if you can believe it," she said. "Of course, he'd been worn down by days of heavy magical and physical combat prior to that, but that was what struck the killing blow."

"Guess we don't have any of those around, huh?"

"No," Peggy agreed with a smile. The smile disappeared. "How are we going to get out of here?"

"I don't know," Steve said. "But I don't want to get caught hiding up here."

"No," Peggy agreed. She drew in a deep breath. "I suppose we should start moving and hope for the best."

Steve nodded, and together they got underneath James's arms and got him to his feet.

"Let me take him," Steve said, shifting so that the bulk of his brother's weight was leaning on him.

"Steve, I can help," Peggy said, irritated that he was worried about over-tiring her again.

"I know," Steve said. "But if we run into Alexander, your magic is going to be a lot more useful than my sword is," he told her. "I mean, I'll fight him if you think it will help, but I think you should keep your hands free."

"Oh," Peggy said, feeling her cheeks color slightly. He did have a good point, and she should have thought of that. "Alright. Keep your sword ready, though," she added. "We might very well need it."

Steve nodded, and he held his sword drawn in one hand, while the other held securely to his brother. It looked cumbersome, but Peggy didn't doubt his ability to do it.

They made their way slowly into the hallway, and then down the stairs. James came somewhat awake as they moved—not enough to really be called conscious, but he was able to take some of his own weight and shuffle his feet, which made it easier for Steve to move.

The fact that they didn't run into anyone on the way downstairs didn't make either of them feel better. There was only one way out of the tower, and Alexander knew it. He could use magic to find them or chase them around, but the simplest thing to do would be to wait.

"Do you think he knows about Bucky?" Steve asked quietly, hitching his shoulder up to adjust his grip on James.

"I imagine so," Peggy said. "I don't know if he was monitoring the spell somehow, but in either case, the fact that James hasn't killed us and returned by now has probably tipped him off."

"And I doubt he's happy about it," Steve said. He looked up at Peggy. "This is going to get ugly, isn't it?"

Peggy nodded.

"What can I do to help?"

Peggy sighed. "I don't know. I don't really even know what _I'm_ going to do."

Steve nodded.

"Just stay on your toes, hey?"

Steve smiled. "I'm always ready. Just say the word."

Peggy's senses were on high alert as they approached the ground level. Her nerves were tingling, trying to pick up any hint of magic on the air—but would that do any good, though? She hadn't known Alexander had magic before, and even Erskine had been fooled. Would she sense anything now?

When she did feel magic, there was so much of it all at once that it was overwhelming, and she wasn't sure where it was coming from. There wasn't much time to think about it, however, because she was falling forward and throwing her hands up to stop from smashing her face into the stairs. With an alarmed grunting noise, James had lurched away from Steve, and since he was too heavy for Steve to pull back upright, the two of them had crashed forward into Peggy's back. James grabbed Peggy's arm tight enough to leave a bruise and dragged her down with them, all three of them hitting the floor with a painful thump. At the same moment they hit the ground, heat and noise seared over them as a fireball exploded into the wall.

"Seen that one b'fore," James slurred into her shoulder. "Sorry 'f I hurt you."

Steve looked like he wanted to take a moment and be overjoyed that his brother was conscious and speaking again, but he had landed on top of the pile and was the one best suited to react when Alexander roared angrily and threw another fireball at them. A nearby suit of armor had toppled over with the first explosion, and Steve rolled to grab the shield that had fallen from its hands and pull it up in front of them. Peggy and James instinctively curled up to get behind it, and Steve yelled as the heat from the flames travelled through the metal and began to burn his hands, but he didn't let go.

Peggy sprang to her feet as soon as the fire died down. Alexander was stalking toward them, fury blazing in his eyes. "You!" he snarled. He flung another fireball in her direction, but Peggy was ready this time, and she blocked it and sent it flying back at him. He dodged it easily and chuckled manically. "Oh, you're going to have to do better than that, little girl."

"It seems I'm doing alright so far," Peggy replied, sounding far braver than she felt. The power she sensed coming off of him was staggering, and taunting him felt incredibly foolish. She could never beat him head-on, but perhaps she could get him to use up some of that power in irritation? It wasn't the best plan, since it relied on her surviving said irritation, and he'd proved dangerous enough when he was in control of his emotions, but it wasn't as though she had a lot of options. She pulled herself up a little straighter. "I did manage to free the prince, after all. Perhaps _you're_ the one who needs to do a little better."

Alexander chuckled again, but Peggy could tell she'd struck a nerve. "I really did underestimate you, didn't I? I won't be making that mistake again." His eyes glowed gold, and two massive marble carvings came barreling away from the wall straight toward her. Peggy flung up her hands with a counter curse that shattered them to dust before they crushed her between them. Alexander laughed. "I'm going to kill you, and I'm going to enjoy it very much. Then I'm going to take James and make him watch while I kill his brother in front of him before I bend him back to my will again." The marble tile cracked and split open in front of her, and Peggy scrambled back to keep from falling in the hole. "You've saved no one," he said. "Hydra will rise again."

"We'll see about that," Peggy replied. She ducked and rolled to avoid another fireball, coming to a stop by the pillar where Steve had dragged James out of the way.

"Peggy, what the hell are you doing?" Steve hissed.

"Trying to make him angry," she replied.

" _Why_?!"

"To make him lose control and to make him use up some of that power he has stored up. I don't have a shot otherwise."

"Yeah, okay," he said, though he didn't look happy about it. He grabbed Peggy's arm and yanked her back, throwing up his arm with the blackened shield he'd held on to as a swarm of little blades came flying at them. The impact of all of them hitting his shield made him flinch. "Can I help?" he asked. "I'm pretty good at annoying him."

"That could get you killed."

"And that's different from what he's trying to do to you how?"

He had a point. And perhaps they could get Alexander to split his focus. "Alright," she said. "Just…Try to stay behind things so he can't hit you." They wanted to split Alexander's focus, not hers, and if she was worried about fighting and protecting Steve, she'd be at a disadvantage. (Although, if it came to that, protecting Steve would win out every time.)

Steve smiled. "You too."

"Hey," James rasped. Peggy was worried he was going to try to join in the fight too—and he was more entitled to be angry with Alexander than any of them, but he couldn't even stand—but it seemed he knew better than to try. "You wanna annoy him, say something about how he's not that great. Been listening to him talk for days—thinks he's the greatest thing since the pointed arch."

"We'll do that," Steve nodded. "You stay back here and stay down. If you get yourself blown up, I'm gonna kill you."

"You be careful too, Stevie," he said with a ghost of his old smile.

They moved out from behind the pillar, Peggy in one direction and Steve in another. "Oh, look," Alexander said. "The little cockroach is coming out from under his rock."

"Yeah, well, you were having such a hard time killing me, I thought I'd even the playing field for you," Steve replied.

The marble floor beneath Steve surged up like a tidal wave, lifting him up in the air, but Steve threw his weight back so he slid down the back of it instead of closer to Alexander. "The arrogance of the Pendragons astounds me," Alexander said. "Each one of you thinking he's untouchable."

"You're talking about arrogance?" Peggy taunted. Alexander whipped his head around to face her. "I've seen some awfully big talk with not much in the way of results." She smirked. "And there are so many men who suffer the same problem, don't you agree?"

"That's an awfully cocky mouth you have for someone so out of her depth," he shot back, along with a spell that brought a pillar toppling in her direction. She rolled and shot a burst of magic at the pillar as it fell, and it exploded into chunks of debris. Some of the smaller ones caught her in the cheek as they blew back at her, and she winced as she thought she heard Steve yelp as one caught him, but she also heard a cry of pain from Alexander.

Shoving herself to her feet and ducking behind another one of the pillars, she looked out to see Steve was still standing, and Alexander was dusty and bleeding. Alexander grunted and flinched, and Peggy almost laughed when she looked over and saw Steve throwing little pieces of one of the broken statues at him. Steve's aim was very good, and he got him in the face with each one. "Enough!" Alexander roared as one of the pieces hit him in the eye. "I've been wanting to kill you for years, you self-righteous little whelp! And I intend to enjoy it!" He waved his hand, and Peggy gasped in horror as all the snakes carved into the chandelier above them came alive and rained down from the ceiling. Steve cried out and fell to the ground, disappearing underneath the mass of wriggling bodies.

Peggy reacted without thinking, reaching into the mound of snakes with her magic and yanking Steve forward. He flew towards her so quickly that he crashed into her and knocked her over. The snakes slithered along at lightning speed behind him, and Peggy reacted again and sent a rift splintering across the floor from wall to wall. Several of the snakes pitched forward into the pit in their haste, but the rest stopped, hissing angrily from the opposite edge. Peggy wrapped an arm around Steve's waist and pulled him further back anyway.

"Are you alright?" Peggy asked. He was panting unevenly. "Did any of them bite you?"

He couldn't quite seem to catch his breath, but he looked down at his arm where the chain mail had been torn when James struck him with the sword earlier. Peggy had healed the wound, but blood was pouring from his arm again, dozens of bite marks puncturing his skin. When he turned his head, Peggy could see more on the back of his neck, the skin around the bites already turning sickly and green. Without another word, she brought a hand up to his face and forced healing magic into the wounds.

"Peggy," he coughed. "You need to save your magic."

"I need to save you," she shot back. "My magic's no good to me without you."

"Oh, that is just precious!" Alexander crowed from the other side of the hole across the floor. He was watching them with a delighted, evil smile. "The peasant girl and the prince. You know, if I wasn't going to have James cut his heart out, I would be tempted to let the two of you live just so Uther could see this." He laughed. "But the time for playing games is over now."

Just like that, his laughter died away, and Peggy felt the floor roll beneath them. The marble swelled and shoved a pillar of stone up between her and Steve, forcing them apart before it rolled like water and tossed Steve away to the opposite wall. The bronze sculptures of snakes twisted to catch him and wrapped around his body, holding him in place. Peggy was flung back the other way, crying out in pain as she hit a wall. "Let's finish this, you and I," Alexander said, and he was whispering, but Peggy felt the words vibrating in her bones.

The air started pulsing around her, humming with magic, and all the lights seemed to grow dimmer, leaving just the Grand Duke Alexander, bathed in a malevolent glow of light. He looked like he was floating. He was getting closer, or maybe he was pulling Peggy closer to him, but at any rate, he was right in front of her now. He reached out his hands, locking them around her wrists like a vice.

"Get your hands off me," Peggy snapped, yanking her arms back.

"Make me," he hissed, gripping her wrists tighter.

"Fine. I will."

Peggy called on the magic in the eagle pendant, and power rushed up through her arms and into her hands. Alexander hissed and pulled his hands back as though he'd been burned. He moved to attack, but she was attacking too, and their magic collided like a thunderclap that sent a tidal wave of power rolling out through the ruined hall. For long minutes, they just stood there, each pressing up against the other with their magic, waiting to see who would yield.

Peggy knew she couldn't keep this up forever. Even with the reserves of power Erskine had given her, Alexander had more power by far, and she could feel the power in the eagle pendant starting to wane. She pushed harder, draining the pendant faster, but making him back up just a little and giving her space to think. She couldn't beat him in a show of strength, but what else could she try? No one was unbeatable, not even the Red Skull. And what did she know about Alexander? He wanted power. He worked alone. He thought highly of himself. It would stand to reason, then, that if there was anything he was using to amplify his own power—and he _must_ be, because he was strong, certainly, but he should be tiring at least a little by now—if he was using something to amplify his power, that it would be close at hand. He wouldn't trust it to anyone else, and it would have to be small enough that he could conceal it.

His ring.

What was it he'd said, that it was part of his family crest? A family that had been part of Hydra for generations. And hadn't she thought the carved snake looked as though it was alive?

Alexander bore back down on her, but she knew what she was after now. She looked, not with her eyes, but with magic, and she saw it, the power emanating from the ring like a beacon. She looked closer, taking in every detail, and the moment cost her—she felt herself sinking to her knees, the tile cracking beneath her as his power pressed her down—but she had found what she was looking for.

No magical artifact, no matter how powerful, was invincible. And the ring, though it held more power than Peggy could wrap her mind around, was old, worn by generations of evil magicians, and it bore the battered marks of a long life. There was a line, right below where the left fang was carved that would have looked like an elongating of the tooth if you didn't know better. But it was a crack. A teeny, tiny chip that didn't hamper the aesthetics of the piece at all and was small enough not to impede the function. But it was a flaw. A tiny imperfection that Peggy's magic could settle itself down into.

She had to empty the eagle pendant to do it, but she was able to force her magic into the little crack, pouring all of her energy into it. Distantly, she was aware of the pain in her body as Alexander crushed into her with his magic, but she shut it out. There was nothing but the crack in the ring, and as she forced her way inside, she found something very familiar.

"Hello, there," Peggy said. The magic inside the ring was dark, viscous and oily, just like she'd seen in his other spells. "I think we've met before. And I think I know how you work."

The eagle pendant depleted, she reached out for the magic in the blue jewel. Instead of pulling it out in bits, Peggy drew in as much of the magic as she felt she could hold without bursting. The distant pain stopped abruptly, and she thought she heard Alexander cry out in surprise. She sent everything she felt inside her crashing forward like a tidal wave, and the crack in the ring burst open like a dam.

"What did you do?!" Alexander roared. The sticky black magic exploded out of his ring, too much for him to stem the flow. His power was vanishing before her eyes, draining away into the ground. She almost thought the hall was groaning as the floor drank it all in.

"I stopped Hydra," Peggy said. "Looks like you'll have to find some other way to prove you're worth something."

"I don't need the power in the ring to kill you," he hissed. The ring was dead, drained to a blackened husk, but there was his own power still to contend with. Peggy staggered back under his new assault, then drew from the blue jewel until she couldn't hold any more again and flung him back.

Again and again they repeated the action, each using more and more force, and each growing more and more tired. Peggy could sense Alexander's strength dropping, but hers was too, the blue jewel quickly depleting as she continued to pull enormous amounts of power from it. It was a matter of endurance now. Who had enough power to outlast the other?

Wherever her body was, Peggy felt like it was shaking, and even looking at the world through the eyes of magic, she was starting to see spots swim across her vision. She had never done this much magic in her life, let alone all at one time, and even with the help of the blue jewel, her body was feeling the toll. She shook more as the blue jewel started to die out, giving up the last of its power just as Alexander sank to his knees, spent.

Peggy dropped down, unable to keep herself up any longer. Alexander let out an inhuman growl and sprang forward, his magic exhausted but his rage enlivened. A sword was in his hands, and Peggy couldn't think of where he got it, could barely even see it coming as the world went blurry around her, but she had just a little bit of her own magic left, and she lashed back with every piece of it she had. It caught Alexander in the midsection and flung him back. He sailed over the rift she'd created in the floor earlier and crashed down into the mass of snakes that had once been the chandelier. They were still hissing and writhing angrily, and he disappeared beneath the mound of them almost at once. Peggy might have heard him scream—it was hard to tell over the pounding of her heart in her ears. A pounding that was steadily turning to a warm, welcoming silence that accompanied the soothing grey fog rolling over her vision. Peggy wasn't sure if she was dying, but if she was, well, it was far less unpleasant than she would have expected.

She hoped Steve and James got home alright.

The next thing she was aware of thinking was that if she _was_ dead, it was turning out to be rather unpleasant after all. Her entire body ached. She was dreadfully thirsty. It was cold. And it was hardly a peaceful rest with that buzzing sound going on.

She tried to slip back into the warm silence of earlier, but her aches and pains and the buzzing persisted. And the buzzing…It was slowing down and coming into focus, and it wasn't actually buzzing, was it? It was someone speaking, though she couldn't make out the words. Something touched her cheek, and it was warm and soft, and Peggy rolled her face towards it, trying to get closer.

"Peggy?" a familiar voice asked, sounding worried and hopeful all at once. Wait, she knew that voice. And among all the aches and pains she was feeling, she felt a new pain, a sharp one. That voice sounded terribly frightened, and that hurt more than anything else did. She needed to…She needed to fix that. Wait, her eyes were closed, weren't they? Opening them would be the first step, then.

Heavily, as if they were weighted down with bags of sand, her eyelids reluctantly opened. At first, everything was just foggy, but as she forced herself to blink a few times, the scene before here started to coalesce into something decipherable. She'd been right, that _was_ Steve's voice that she'd been hearing, as well as his hand on her cheek, and there was his face, hovering over her, pale and anxious, worried blue eyes blazing down at her from beneath those lovely eyelashes.

"Hello," she said.

"Peggy?" he whispered. Right next to the blue of his eyes was a harsh streak of red, and as Peggy finally realized it was blood, a barely closed-over wound, everything that had just happened came screaming back.

"Steve!" she exclaimed, sitting bolt-upright and instantly regretting moving so quickly. Time to worry about that later, though. "Are you alright?"

Steve stared at her in shock for a moment, then started laughing a little hysterically. "Am _I_ alright?" he repeated. "You're the one who went head to head with an evil magician and has been dead to the world for two days. Am _I_ alright," he scoffed. "Peggy, I…you…" He swallowed hard. "I thought you were gonna die," he whispered.

"I thought that too, for a bit," Peggy said.

"You're alive," Steve said softly.

"I'm alive," she repeated, both for his benefit and hers.

He stared at her a moment longer, then his hands were on her face and he was kissing her like his life depended on it. She let out a squelched squawk of surprise and he stopped and started to pull away, but she flung her arms around him to stop him going anywhere and started kissing him back.

She reluctantly pulled away when Steve's breath started sounding a little reedy, but Steve kept one hand on her cheek and she didn't go far. Water was glistening in Steve's eyes, and he was smiling at her with the most beautiful smile she'd ever seen.

"You're alive," he said in amazement.

"So are you," she breathed.

He leaned in and kissed her again, softly this time, and a shiver ran down Peggy's body straight into her toes. "I love you," he whispered when he pulled away.

Peggy blinked in surprise. "You what?"

"I love you," he said again. "I should have told you that a long time ago, and all my reasons for not doing it seem pretty stupid right now."

"So do mine," Peggy said, and if she'd thought his smile was beautiful before… "Steve, I love you too." He leaned in and kissed her again, long and slow and good.

"Well, it's about time," said a voice from behind them, accompanied by another deeper voice chuckling. Steve spun his head around so quickly he nearly crashed his chin into hers, but she had fortunately pulled back to look over his shoulder. James was sitting on the other side of the fire she had also just noticed, grinning at them widely, and Dugan was sitting beside him.

"Excuse me?" Peggy said.

"I've had entire relationships that have been shorter than the amount of time you two have spent making sheep's eyes at each other," James informed them, poking a stick into the fire.

"Bucky!" Steve protested in the embarrassed, not-quite-whine of a little brother.

"Let him laugh," Peggy said as he and Dugan proceeded to do so. "He's not kissing anyone right now, is he?"

"With that mustache? Hell, no," James said as Dugan looked over at him with a grin. He turned his eyes back to the two of them. "Seriously, though. This?" He waved at the two of them. "This is great," he said warmly.

Steve looked back at Peggy. "Yeah, it is," he said softly.

Peggy smiled and kissed him quickly. "It is," she agreed. She arched a questioning eyebrow. "Seeing as I've already been hiding my magic from your father, are we going to have to hide this from him too?"

Steve laughed. "Why bother? He's never approved of any of my choices—no point in worrying about it now. Besides," he added, getting to his feet and putting his hands under her arms to help her up too. "You did just save the entire kingdom, so…" He shrugged. "Who knows? He might like you better than me now," he teased, and she laughed.

She was glad Steve was there to help her to her feet, because her body chose that moment to remind her how tired she was. She was shaking something awful, but thankfully, they weren't going far. Now that she was able to have a proper look around, Peggy realized she had been lying on some sort of litter near the fire. Behind Dugan and James was the tent, and there was a pot of some sort stewing over the fire. Beyond the tent were Onyx, Lily, and another horse that Peggy assumed was either Dugan's or had been stolen from wherever Alexander had kept his horses in what had evidently been their escape. They clearly weren't inside the mountain stronghold anymore, though Peggy had no idea where they were. One patch of snow-covered woods looked very much like another, but at least she couldn't feel any of that dark magic, so they must have been some distance away from Redhaven.

Steve helped her to one of the fallen logs by the fire, then sat down beside her. He tugged her in against his side and wrapped an arm around her, which was nice because she was slumping over sideways somewhat, but it was also just…nice. She snuggled a little closer.

James got up and got her a bowl of stew, which Steve held while she maneuvered the spoon. "So, I feel I've missed a few things," she said.

The rest of them took turns filling her in on what had happened. It would seem one of the waves of magical energy she and Alexander had been throwing at one another had hit the bronze snakes that had been holding Steve to the wall, warping them and giving him space to wriggle free. He'd returned to James's side, rather than try to interrupt the battle. Alexander had indeed been devoured by the horde of snakes, and while it was a gruesome end, Peggy had trouble feeling bad about it.

Steve had had rather a difficult time working out what to do next, as James didn't have the strength to move and Peggy was unconscious. She detected a little waver in his voice as he went back over that part, but he had managed to move her over to where James was lying. James had given him directions to where Alexander kept his horses, and Steve had gone and fetched one and brought it back into the hall. (He pointed out here that despite belonging to an evil magician, the horse was a lovely creature. He had already named her Jasmine.) Together, James and Steve had managed to get James on the horse, and then Peggy up where James could hold her. Steve had led the horse out, reaching up occasionally to steady one of them, and he had run into Dugan as he got back to where Onyx and Lily were still tied. Dugan had been on his way to help, and he'd quickly helped Steve situate things so they could travel more easily (including building the litter Peggy had been lying on), and they'd set out, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the stronghold as they could before nightfall.

Alexander's soldiers were out there somewhere, as were the rest of the knights of Camelot, but they'd been camped here for two days, waiting for James to get some of his strength back and for Peggy to wake up. She could see, looking at him now, that though he was able to move, there was still a tremor there when he sat still; and though he was laughing and smiling, there was a haunted shadow behind his eyes. Both would heal in time, she knew—and once she regained her strength, she might be able to speed it along. Dugan seemed well enough, if a tad hungry and cold, and though Steve was sporting cuts and bruises of his own, he seemed alright too.

"I remembered which medicines you gave me," he told her. "For my joints and my breathing and everything. So, I went into your trunk and got them out and I've been taking them. I hope you don't mind me going through your stuff," he added a bit sheepishly. "I figured we were in bad enough shape as it was without me going down too."

Peggy smiled at him. "No, I don't mind. It was a good call. And you're really alright?"

"I'm really alright," he assured her. "Stiff and sore and tired, but alright."

"I'd offer to help," she said. "But I think I would fall asleep mid-spell. It's going to take me a while to build up the strength for any sort of significant magic again."

"Don't worry about it," he said, picking up her hands and kissing her fingers. He shifted the arm he had around her waist and tugged her closer into him. "I'm fine. It's my turn to take care of you for a while."

Peggy smiled at him tiredly. (Bloody Nora, she'd been awake for, what, an hour? And she was already having trouble keeping her eyes open.) "Thank you, my darling," she said softly. That beautiful smile stretched across his face again, and Dugan and James began politely making a great deal of noise as they cleared up the remains of the stew. She nuzzled her head closer into his shoulder. "You know," she told him sleepily. "Earlier, when we were trying to keep each other warm, I was thinking how nice it was to hold you, and that I should like to do it again sometime in a less life-or-death situation."

Steve smiled. "Oh, yeah?"

"Mm," she agreed. She yawned. "As it turns out, being held by you is also very nice."

Steve leaned in and kissed her forehead gently. "I don't know that I ever felt more at home, or more safe than I did when you were holding me," he told her, the firelight dancing in his eyes. "And to say that I've thought about holding you, well…" That sheepish smile was back. "I've thought about it a lot. It's even better than I imagined."

Peggy smiled and stretched up to kiss him before snuggling back into his shoulder and shutting her eyes. "I do love you," she sighed. "I'm very glad we've both lived long enough to get the chance to say it."

"Me too," he replied. She felt his lips on her forehead again, warm and soft as he pressed another kiss there. "You can go ahead and go to sleep," he told her, stroking a hand gently over her hair. "I've got you, and I love you. And we're going to get to keep telling each other that for a long time."

* * *

_Ta-dah! So, yes, that one was a little on the long side-I told you it kind of got away from me-but everything turned out well in the end._

_Next up...I'm not sure. I have, like, three half-written ideas, and I have no idea which one will get finished first. The muse bounces around, so I don't want to promise a topic only for her to switch gears. But either way, there's more to come! Thanks so much for following along!_


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